


The Fury of the Righteous

by superagentwolf



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BAMF Stiles, Background Pack - Freeform, Background Relationships, Everyone is a Hypocrite, F/M, Gen, Hellhound Parrish, M/M, OC is Not a Love Interest, Parrish and Stiles Bond, Possibly Pre-Slash, Post-Season/Series 05A Finale, Scott is a Bad Friend, Scott is a Good Friend, Slow Build Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski Is Bad At Feelings, Stiles-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-25
Updated: 2016-08-09
Packaged: 2018-04-17 04:20:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 48,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4652031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superagentwolf/pseuds/superagentwolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles has been afraid of himself since October. He knows, rationally, that the Nogitsune is gone- but he also knows that what he felt when Donovan died isn't right.<br/>Or maybe it is.<br/>Maybe what Stiles felt, what he's feeling, is completely right. And maybe he isn't the only one feeling it.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shining

Stiles watches his father lie in the hospital bed and he thinks to himself that he saw this coming.

It wasn't paranoia, not trusting Theo. The kid gave off bad vibes from the start; it just hurt that Scott hadn't listened. Scott had _willingly_ let Theo in, had relied on him more and more. He'd let Theo into their circle, even if he said he wasn't making him pack yet. No matter how much Theo said he'd prove himself first, Stiles knew the truth. Scott had accepted Theo the moment he'd appeared.

And here they were.

_**"That's Void Stiles!"** _

Theo was right. Stiles hadn't felt bad when Donovan had died.

He remembered the fear, the running, the panic drumming its way out of his chest. He'd been painfully aware of his own mortality, conscious of the fact that he was no werewolf. He wasn't a kanima, a banshee, whatever it was that Parrish was- he was human. He was, is, unable to protect himself. He knew this and it scared him so much he'd barely been able to climb up the scaffold. 

And then Donovan was following him up and Stiles had felt the bile rise in his throat, had thought in a white flash of fear _I hope someone looks after my dad_ and then, suddenly, the metal had fallen. Stiles had watched as Donovan fell, the sounds of falling metal echoing like church bells. He had watched the body, no longer a person, slump onto the fallen poles like a lifeless doll.

In that exact moment, as he was watching Donovan _die_ , he had _felt_ something. It wasn't joy but he didn't know what it  _was_ so he ran. He was scared and he didn't know what he was feeling. For all he knew the Nogitsune had left something behind, had poisoned him. He'd been so damn conflicted that he didn't know what to do with himself and so he made mistakes.

Stiles didn't tell Scott. He didn't talk to his best friend, didn't try to explain and then Theo had come along and used his fake earnestness to worm his way closer.

When Theo approached Stiles on the roof it had been the worst possible moment. He was vulnerable and sad and angry and Theo had come up behind him, had appeared and offered his hand. He'd offered the fact that he _knew_ about Donovan and Stiles had felt that same white-hot flame he'd felt when Donovan had died. It was stronger than before and he knew it wasn't _hate_. He'd never really _hated_ Theo. He knew what Theo had told him, knew about his sister and the guilt he'd said he felt. Of course,  _now_ Stiles knew it was all a lie. But at the moment, he had taken Theo's word, even if he hadn't liked it. He'd never hated the boy. He'd only felt _bad_ about him.

Theo had inserted himself in the middle of the pack, spreading like an infection, turning everyone against each other and away from Scott. Except it wasn't just everyone versus Scott.

It was almost everyone versus Scott versus Stiles.

Stiles had been effectively shunned by Scott after he'd tried to talk about Donovan's death. Stiles had felt the rejection like a gunshot, had almost physically rocked back when Scott had told him to leave, to stop worrying about Lydia and Malia. Even being with Malia had soured. She'd essentially told Stiles that she thought he underestimated her perceptiveness and then she'd said she didn't care about Donovan. It was everything he hadn't wanted to hear.

When Parrish had walked out of the station Stiles had stopped the deputies from doing anything. It had been instinctual, a knee-jerk reaction that he only thought about after the fact. He didn't realize why he'd reacted until later.

Stiles had recognized him. He'd recognized the fire in Parrish's eyes because he'd felt it in his own chest.

When Theo had showed up Stiles had felt the embers stir within him. Somewhere inside he already knew what Theo was about to reveal. It didn't hurt any less, though- it didn't make it easier to hear that Theo had come for his other self, for the Void that Stiles had been. Theo had come for the Nogitsune and when he hadn't seen it he'd tried to pull it back up from the depths. He'd pushed and pushed and finally succeeded, laughing when Stiles had punched him.

But Stiles hadn't wanted to hit Theo.

He'd been angry, yes, and feeling betrayed. Betrayed by Scott, who hadn't listened. Betrayed by the entire pack, really, for the way they'd almost immediately trusted Theo. But Stiles didn't _want_ to hurt Theo. He understood the difference between revenge and justice.

But Theo had kept talking and Stiles _knew_ , somehow, that Theo couldn't leave. He'd _known_ that somewhere the pack were suffering and he couldn't do anything to help. The only thing he could do was try to stop Theo.

And he hadn't even been able to do that.

 

* * *

 

 

"Lydia's sleeping. We don't know when she'll wake up," Melissa explained, running a tired hand over her face. Stiles nodded, looking back at the room where his father slept.

"I need to go for a little while. If he wakes up again, tell him not to worry."

"Stiles," Melissa started, the sorrow in her eyes overwhelming. Stiles already knew what she wanted to say. _Don't do this. Don't go. You all almost died. You're in danger, more than before._

He ignored the silent warnings and left.

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles had hoped he'd get to Parrish's in time. The last time Parrish had gone sleepwalking to steal bodies, he'd been awake by the next morning. Stiles hoped he'd catch him before he decided to turn himself in- or worse, leave.

Stiles knew how to pick a lock. It was fairly easy, getting inside the small apartment. It reminded him of Derek's. The thought was dangerous, though, so he focused instead on the small kitchen. _Everyone likes eggs,_ Stiles thought numbly, and he started to make breakfast.

Five minutes passed before Parrish made a sound.

The man jumped out of bed, one hand already swiping a gun up from its hiding place. Stiles held his hands up, too tired to protest.

"Stiles?"

"That's me." He sounded bad to his own ears. Like he'd been dragged through the mud.

"What-,"

"Hayden died," Stiles interrupts, and he's not sure why but he knows it's important for Parrish to remember. It's important that they start to understand what he is and what he does.

"...I took her," Parrish murmurs, and Stiles feels his heart hurt at the look in the man's eyes. He understands that look. It comes with the knowledge that your body is not your own.

"Sit," Stiles gestures, and Parrish looks like he's going to argue before Stiles gives him a weary stare. Parrish must recognize that there's something they have to _talk_ about because he sits.

"What happened? Is everyone okay?"

"Liam is messed up," Stiles starts, setting a plate in front of Parrish. The man stares at it for a few minutes before picking at the eggs with his fork, eating like a man about to be executed. "Theo lured Scott to the school and used Mountain Ash to lock him in. Liam was stronger with the supermoon and Scott was weaker because Theo filled his inhaler with wolfsbane. Malia was attacked somewhere else and Braeden showed up to tell her the Desert Wolf is after her. Scott almost died and Melissa brought him back. Theo attacked me. He wanted the Nogitsune but he couldn't get it and he hurt my father."

Parrish is quiet for a moment, but it doesn't last long. He's perceptive, Stiles knows, and even a big information dump isn't enough to throw him off.

"Lydia?"

"She's in the hospital," Stiles begins and when Parrish all but jumps up Stiles gazes up at him with steely eyes. "She's resting; Theo forcefully invaded her memories to find the Nemeton."

"Why did he-,"

"He took the bodies. He did something to them, I don't know what- they're back again. Not alive, I don't think, but they're back. Somehow," Stiles adds quietly, and he feels a familiar dull ache at the thought. _Bringing people back._

"I need to-,"

"You don't _need_ to go do anything," Stiles interrupts firmly, rising to his feet.

"Yes, I _do_ \- Stiles, _I_ took those bodies. I injured fellow officers, I-,"

"You were keeping them from him," Stiles interrupts, watching Parrish closely. He's more certain now that he sees Parrish, notices the despair hidden in his face.

"Does that excuse what I've done? I have to be held accountable for what I've done," Parrish insists.

"Do you think they'd try you for being a hellhound? I'd like to see the transcripts."

Parrish almost answers until he stops, looking at Stiles with barely veiled horror.

" _What_ am I?"

"A hellhound. Lydia went to check on it, didn't she? She guessed you were taking the bodies for a reason, not necessarily anything evil. She was right."

"How does...my being a _hell_ hound make it any better? Isn't that _worse_?"

Parrish looks crushed. Stiles feels himself hurting for the man, recognizes the look of hopelessness on his face.

"You know, the thing about Charon is that he was really just a tough sailor in his earlier depictions. It's only during and after Michelangelo's time that people starting making him look like a demon." Stiles walks around to the kitchen, taking Parrish's half-eaten breakfast with him. "Charon isn't inherently evil. He has a job to do and he does it. He doesn't purposely kill people. It's his job to ferry them."

"I don't ferry people, Stiles," Parrish says tiredly, but Stiles can tell that even he doesn't believe himself. 

"You do. Just not necessarily to hell," Stiles replies quietly, thinking.

"How is taking them to the Nemeton any better? From what I hear, it isn't exactly the best place to be."

"No," Stiles begins slowly, tapping his fingers against the counter. "But your job is to ferry them. You may _literally_ be some kind of guard dog. Maybe you're keeping the supernatural hidden."

"That's what Lydia said," Parrish says quietly and Stiles nods, rubbing his face with tired hands.

"You haven't killed anyone. If anything, you've saved Beacon Hills from yet another useless FBI investigation," Stiles adds bitterly.

They're quiet for a moment and Parrish stares at his coffee, watching the wisps of steam slowly disappear.

"So why are you here?"

"...I think I may be dangerous, too."


	2. In the End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a reason Stiles went to Parrish. He just doesn't know why. When old memories resurface, it becomes clear that there may be more to Stiles' relationship with Parrish- and hellhounds- than he originally thought.

"How are  _you_ dangerous?" Parrish asks and Stiles can tell by his tone that he isn't trying to be insulting; he's just caught up in his own revelations.

"I've been having... _feelings_ ," Stiles begins slowly, staring into the kitchen sink. "When Donovan attacked me, when he died- I didn't feel sorry."

"Stiles, he threatened your father," Parrish says kindly, olive eyes softening. 

"Yeah, and that's the first time _that's_ happened," Stiles snaps, sarcasm sharpening his words. He stops himself, rubbing his tires eyes with shaking hands. "Look...I'm not saying I didn't feel sorry that he was fucked up. I'm just saying...,"

"You didn't feel sorry that he died."

"Because he deserved it," Stiles manages, and he feels bile rise to the bottom of his throat. "And don't try to make it better, because you  _can't._ I don't want to  _feel_ like he deserved it but I... _know_ it's true. It's... _just_."

"Even if someone deserved death, it's not your place to decide-,"

"And I didn't!" Stiles shouts and he feels the pent-up frustration, the explanations tumbling off his tongue. He can see Scott's face, can see his best friend standing before him. "I didn't kill him!"

"I know you didn't," Parrish says evenly, "But it sounds a lot like you would have."

Stiles is silent for a moment as he lets the boiling frustration recede from his mouth. He can't afford to alienate Parrish. He doesn't want to.

"I know that I have no place to dole out death," Stiles says calmly, making his way back into the kitchen so that he can sit across from Parrish. "But you cannot tell me that his death was not justified. You can't."

"I don't want to believe that death is the only answer," Parrish says and his eyes are burning with intensity again. Stiles thinks he can see the man disabling his fellow officers, making his way to the bodies he somehow  _had_ to transport.

"It isn't," Stiles insists, trying desperately to explain. "But when someone like Donovan, someone who isn't willing to let themselves be helped, starts to threaten others- how is it not? How is it not the answer when  _he_ had the power to kill?"

"That's the difference, isn't it?" Parrish says tiredly, leaning back in his chair. "They... _we_ aren't human. We have power that we  _shouldn't_ have."

"Maybe not shouldn't. Maybe the power isn't the problem. Maybe it's how you use it," Stiles says quietly.

"So how do I use mine? It seems to be using me."

"I don't know," Stiles mumbles, shaking his head, willing the sting of tears to disappear. Parrish watches him quietly, calculating.

"Why did you come here?" Parrish asks, fingers tapping against the tabletop.

"I don't know," Stiles responds automatically, but something in the way he says it makes him think it isn't true.  _But how is that possible? How can I not be sure if I know?_

"Yes, you do," Parrish says, and his scrutinizing gaze feels heavy.

"I know you," Stiles says slowly, and he can feel his eyes shifting out of focus. The room blurs into a mess of golds and browns as he drifts, slipping away from his conscious mind. 

"What do you mean?" Parrish's voice is muffled, floating to Stiles across a distance wide as an ocean.

"You...something about you, what you are...I recognize it," Stiles whispers, afraid to speak too loud. Something within him is rising to the surface and he can feel it like water trying to slip through his fingers.

"How do you recognize it? Did you know someone else like me?"

Stiles flinches, a flash of white invading his mind as he gasps, suddenly filled with a foreign fear. "No, no,  _no_ ," he repeats, panic rising with his voice as fragmented images and sounds invade his mind.

"Stiles.  _Stiles!_ " Parrish shouts and Stiles feels the man's arms gripping him, trying to bring him back to reality. The chair beneath Stiles slides away and he distantly feels the sensation of his head hitting the wood floor before everything goes dark.

 

* * *

 

 

_Stiles is four years old. He's sitting in the living room, coloring at the coffee table. It's 2 o'clock and the sunlight illuminates his paper, making the black creature he's drawing- a dog or a wolf, maybe- shine with crayon wax. The world is peaceful._

_There's a scream from the kitchen._

_Stiles turns, eyes wide and fearful. The crayon in his fingers falls to the floor. He feels his child's heart beating fast as he rises, thinking only of his mother. He's afraid, but he doesn't want to be alone. He wants his mother. Stiles walks as quietly as he can, flinching when his little-boy shoes squeak on the floor. He makes his way to the kitchen slowly, pulse thundering in his ears._

_Claudia is standing in the kitchen, eyes wild, a knife gripped tightly in her right hand. She is staring at the far wall, chest heaving in horror._

_"Mom," Stiles pleads, afraid, and when she turns to look at him the fear in her eyes doesn't go away. She looks at her son like he is a stranger. "Mom," Stiles repeats, scared, he wants to go to her but something in her eyes makes him step backwards._

_"Who are you?" She asks and her voice trembles._

_-_

_Stiles is six and he's coming home from school. His backpack is heavy and he's been playing with Scott, jeans stained by grass. He's happy, though, content with life as it is._

_When gets to his house his mother isn't outside._

_She's usually waiting on the porch or the sidewalk, smiling, an orange or an apple in her hand because she's trying to keep them all eating healthy. Every now and then, though, she'll have a cookie. 'Don't tell your father,' she'll whisper, laughing. Today she isn't outside._

_Stiles hesitates, worried, hitching his backpack up higher. The weight on his shoulders makes him worry at his lip, unsure, but he finally makes his way to the door, ready to relieve the burden. When he opens the door and makes his way inside he can hear his mom's voice, can hear her arguing. For a minute he thinks that maybe they have a guest, maybe Melissa came over and that's why his mom wasn't outside._

_When he reaches the living room he freezes._

_His mother is there, kneeling on the floor. She's scrubbing the coffee table, hands red and worried. She's muttering under her breath, loose strands of hair escaped from her ponytail and hanging around her face. Stiles knows instinctively that something is wrong but he doesn't know what and he wants desperately for his mother to be okay._

_"Mom," he says quietly, cautiously taking a step forward. Claudia whips around, her eyes wild and tight._

_"You. This house is a_ **_mess_ ** _!"_ _she screams, throwing the soapy cloth at him. He cries out, arms raising to ward off the blow._

_-_

_Stiles is seven. He's sitting in a hallway in the hospital, feet dangling listlessly towards the ground. His eyes are red-rimmed from the tears he's spent. It's been a bad week._

_His father had come home the night before, worry pronounced in the corners of his mouth. Stiles had called, hysterical, crying. His mother didn't recognize him._

_"Hey, kid," his father had said and his smile was so sad Stiles had wanted to cry. "We're going to the hospital tomorrow, okay? Just us three. I'll take off of work. We'll even go get ice cream."_

_"Is there something wrong with mom?" Stiles had asked, hating the way his voice was so weak, so quiet, so scared._

_"She's just a little sick, that's all," his father had said, and his voice had broken a little. Stiles felt terrible. It was his fault. It was his fault that he hadn't  been able to do anything, that his mother didn't love him enough. That she didn't remember him sometimes._

_"Is she gonna get better?" Stiles had asked, feeling tears well up in the corners of his eyes. His father's eyes had been glassy, too and he'd reached out for his son, strong arms trying to shelter him from the world. His father hadn't answered._

_There had been tests. His parents had gone behind closed doors five minutes ago and they still hadn't come out. At first he'd heard muffled arguing, sniffling, the doctor's low murmur. It had been quiet for some time now._

_When the door opened Stiles looked up quickly, feeling his brow tighten with worry. He took one look at his father's face and knew._

_-_

_Stiles is eight. His father leaves the hospital room for a moment, disguising his tears with an excuse to get coffee. Stiles is alone with his mother for three minutes._

_"Stop looking at me!" She insists, eyes wild, and he feels the tears return to his already tired eyes. He tries looking away, anywhere but the hospital bed. His mother shrinks away from him but he's five feet across the room. "Stop it!"_

_"Mom," Stiles lets slip and he immediately regrets it, knowing he shouldn't have spoken._

_"No! I'm not your mother!" Claudia cries, eyes terrified, and she scrambles out of bed. He's suddenly terrified, worried, unsure of what she'll do to herself._

_"Wait!" Stiles cries, hating himself for having opened his mouth in the first place. It's his fault. If he hadn't said anything, if he hadn't spoken, she would have been fine._

_Claudia turns, ripping the IV out from her arm, racing to the door, flinging it open to leave. Stiles can hear himself calling for her and he runs after her, frightened. He passes his father in the cafeteria and he sees the coffee leave his dad's hands, falling to the floor as he sprints out to catch them. Stiles hears his dad's footsteps beating like a heart as they follow his mother to the roof. He gets there in time to watch her climb the ledge and he feels the edge of despair gripping his throat like a vice. He can't move, he's powerless to stop her, watching the scene play out like a statue._

_His father calls her name, tries to coax her down. Stiles watches, his limbs stone and his throat filled with cotton._

_"He's trying to hurt me. I don't care if you don't believe me, but he is. He's trying to kill me!"_

_Stiles doesn't remember what happens after. He remembers his mother being taken back to her room, his father talking in the hallway with the doctor, shoulders shaking imperceptibly. He remembers slipping away to a corner of the cafeteria, knees drawn up to his chest as he sits on a chair too hard and curved for his thin body. He remembers the stark fluorescent lighting and the thoughts crowding his head._

_I'm not good enough. It's my fault. It's my fault._

_A litany of horrible thoughts, self-blame, hatred, flying through his mind. But then, for a moment, something else worms its way in._

_I don't deserve this._

_The thought is evil, poisonous. He tries to make it go away. He **does** deserve this. It's _ **_his_ ** _fault. But the more he thinks about it, the more he thinks of Melissa's smiles, the way she hugs Scott when she picks him up from school. The way Lydia's mom smiles, praises her daughter, combs her vibrant hair with gentle fingers. Stiles thinks of them and wonders why, wonders what he's done to deserve this, what he did so wrong that his own mother doesn't love him, doesn't even recognize him._ **  
**

_"I wish I didn't have a mother," Stiles whispers to himself through tears and he's simultaneously horrified and relieved by his own words. He knows it's true. If he did something wrong, he'd rather have no mother at all than one who hates him, one who's afraid of him, one who doesn't love him._

_"Hey," A voice says, and Stiles looks up to see a familiar face. A nurse, his hazel eyes worried. Stiles doesn't really remember his name but he knows he's seen him bringing lunch in to his mom. "Are you okay?"_

_"I'm fine," Stiles says, trying to be brave. Even he doesn't believe himself._

_"Mom's had a bad day?" The nurse asks and Stiles can't help it, can't stop the words from spilling out of his mouth._

_"I've had a bad day." There's no malice in the confession- he just says it, wanting to say it, wanting to admit for once that nothing is all right. The nurse looks sorry for a moment._

_"You'll be fine," the nurse says, but Stiles can tell that there's more hope than fact in the statement._

_"She's sick. She's **been** sick," Stiles explains, sniffling, trying to hold back the flood of tears. "I don't want her to be sick anymore."_

_"She doesn't mean to hurt you," the man explains and Stiles shakes his head, not wanting to hear it. He's heard it before.  
_

_"I know she doesn't. I just don't want this anymore. I don't want this," Stiles says, voice breaking as the tears start up again. The nurse shushes him, pulling him into a hug he didn't know he needed._

_"It's okay. It'll be over soon." Somehow, Stiles felt better._

_A few days later Stiles was sleeping in a chair in his mom's room. His father had left for work, unable to stay all night. He'd been so sorry when he'd left, glancing back at Stiles apologetically._

_Stiles blinked tiredly, not quite awake but aware. He'd heard something._

_There was a man in the room. Stiles wasn't sure what was happening. He thought that maybe it was a nurse and he was about to go back to sleep when he saw the man pull the sheets away from his mother's body. Stiles wanted to speak, wanted to warn him that she got cold easily, but his mouth was slow and his eyelids heavy. The man put his hand on his mother's neck, as if checking her pulse. Stiles thought he saw something, a gold light escaping from his mother's body to the man's fingers. Something felt off about the scene._

_Stiles watched his mother inhale, shaking her head groggily, watched her eyes land on the stranger's face. Her mouth opened as if she was about to say something. Stiles fell asleep, unable to stay conscious._

_Five minutes later Stiles woke to the uneven beeping of his mother's heart monitor. He called for her, tried touching her, tried shaking her awake. The heart monitor was erratic at first before it started to crawl to a stop. At some point a nurse finally came in and then ran back out, calling for assistance. Stiles kept trying to call his mother, tried to wake her, tried to make her come back. The entire time he thought of his father, at work, tired and sad. He wanted so badly for his mother to come back, to be there, if only for his father._

_When the doctor ordered Stiles out of the room it had already been nearly five minutes. A nurse was on the phone, calling Stiles' father. The crash cart had been wheeled into the room. Stiles stood outside, waiting, watching through the open door. No one noticed. They finally stopped working as his father ran through the doors of the hospital, despair written across his face. Stiles didn't even look at his father, watching instead his mother's face. She looked peaceful._

_He found himself relieved._

_He hated himself for it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off: I've been at college, taking four English courses, so I haven't been able to write! (Ironic). I'm super sorry but I promise in about three more weeks I'll be down to 3 English classes and I'll have more time for my fics.  
> So...there's so much conflicting evidence about when Claudia died, etc. This is due to TW's inability to tell time. Fortunately, I have attempted to provide a somewhat-canon representation of events. I have Claudia suffering here from Semantic Frontotemporal Dementia, which is characterized primarily by an inability to remember names and faces when the onset becomes moderate. Anyways, research aside, I thought it fit with scene where Claudia is telling Stiles' dad that Stiles wants to kill her. Very sad :(   
> Info on FTD here: (http://memory.ucsf.edu/ftd/overview/ftd/progression/single)


	3. Justice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles struggles to understand what's happening with him and Parrish. After a consultation, he gets word that Lydia is being moved from the hospital. There are startling revelations to be had and Stiles hopes he can find some way to control the powers growing within him.

"Stiles."

"Hmmm," Stiles hums, flinching and turning his head away from the light filtering through his closed eyelids. He blinks, realizing he's lying on a couch.

"How are you feeling?"

"...tired," Stiles manages, wincing as he pulls himself upright. It's fairly dark outside, maybe six or seven at night already. 

"Well, you were out long enough," Parrish jokes tensely, watching Stiles with worried eyes.

"I'm fine," Stiles says automatically before realizing what he's done. "Actually...I'm not," he amends, the bitter taste of sleep thick on his tongue.

"What happened?" Parrish asks quietly. 

"I remembered," Stiles says simply, swinging his feet off the couch as he levers into a sitting position.

"You've met another...one. A hell hound," Parrish says and it's not a question at all. He knows.

"When my mother died," Stiles says and he watches the way Parrish flinches back, suddenly looks as if he's sorry to be alive. Stiles recognizes the look. It's one he used to wear all the time at the hospital. "It wasn't the same."

"How was it not?"

"He didn't take her body. He just...did something. Let her go, maybe," Stiles tries to explain, remembering the gold light and the way the stranger had touched his fingers to his mother's neck.

"He...killed her?" Parrish asks, looking vaguely sick. 

"No. She was...she was sick.  _Very_ sick," Stiles explains, biting the inside of his cheek. "I think maybe he just...came to do something. She didn't die when he did whatever he did, so he can't have killed her."

"Then what did he do?"

"You were taking the bodies to hide them, right?" Stiles asks slowly, a fuzzy image beginning to form in his mind.

"I guess," Parrish replies, frowning, and Stiles shakes his head.

"No. You know why. Why did you take them?"

"I... _had_ to," Parrish says, frustrated. "I just...I knew they weren't... _safe_."

"You see? You weren't taking them to hell or anything like that- you were taking them because you knew- some part of you  _knew_ they couldn't be seen."

"So your mother....," Parrish begins, unsure.

"There was something about her they were trying to hide," Stiles realizes, feeling vaguely sick.

"Was there ever anything strange about her? Did your father-,"

"No. He doesn't know," Stiles says suddenly, certain. "I know he doesn't. But...maybe...," 

_"You know what they're looking for, right?"_

"What?" Parrish asks, worried.

"Frontotemporal dementia. The nogitsune," Stiles breathes, laughing shortly, humorless. "Maybe she had it. Maybe it wasn't real- maybe something was possessing her."

"We don't know anything we didn't know before," Parrish says suddenly, frustrated, rising to pace. "What does this prove but the fact that we-  _hell hounds_ \- hide the supernatural?"

"It proves that you're not killing people," Stiles says firmly, rising to his feet. "It proves that there's a reason, a  _good_ reason, that you're doing the things you're doing."

"But I'm  _aware_ it's happening. Why can't I _stop_ it?"

"Maybe for the same reason Scott can't stop his own changes," Stiles offers, pacing to the window. "He can't turn off his hearing or his smell or his sight. Maybe you can't turn off the need to hide things."

"And what if I want to? What if I don't want to hide things? I don't even know how I  _got_ this way! Scott was  _bitten,_ I just...am!" 

Stiles watches Parrish for a moment, worried. The man looks like he's at the end of his rope and Stiles knows the feeling. He's also seen it before.

"What about Lydia? She wasn't really bitten," Stiles says softly, and Parrish looks up, worried. "Peter  _did_  bite her...but the bite itself didn't do anything. She was immune."

"What do you mean, immune?"

"I mean she was  _already_ a banshee before she was bitten. The bite just woke the potential within her," Stiles says slowly.

"But I've still never been bitten."

"No...but you were burned."

Parrish is silent for a moment, absorbing the information. Stiles can see the gears turning in his mind, the realization dawning on him.

"You think the fire woke the potential in  _me_."

"I know it," Stiles replies, calm. "What other explanation is there? The fire woke the potential in you. Hell hounds are associated with guarding the gates of hell, cemeteries, supernatural treasure- in some mythology they even hunt lost souls."

"So, what? I'm...guarding a cemetery of the supernatural dead?"

"What else are you doing?"

"I don't know," Parrish says, shaking his head. "I don't know how to control this. Or if I can."

"We'll find a way," Stiles says softly, looking out the window. "I need to get back to the hospital. I'll try and get in contact with Deaton- maybe he can help us."

"All right," Parrish says tiredly, sliding back down onto the couch.

"Get some rest," Stiles says, trying to convey his worry and support all at once. He leaves wishing he had more to offer.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles arrives at the hospital in time to see Scott going into Lydia's room. He tries to pretend he didn't see him, walking past to his father's room. When he goes in he sees his father propped up in bed, worry etched into his features.

"You look like you had a good rest," Stiles tries to joke but the tightness in his throat prevents a smile from staying on his lips.

"Where were you?"

Stiles feels the words hit home. They land in his heart like darts, perfectly on track and lethal.

"I had to go see Parrish," Stiles replies, moving to the foot of the bed. He can feel the sting of tears threatening his eyes. He wants to apologize, wants to  _do_ something, but he can't. 

"Something happen to him?" his father asks and Stiles can tell he genuinely cares.

"No. He just...isn't right. He's worried about being a hell hound."

"Hell hound," his father says, dry humor coloring his words. "I was happy when it was werewolves and hunters."

"It's never been happy," Stiles replies without thinking. He closes his eyes for a moment, wishing he could take the words back. "It's fine. I...I have to try and get in touch with Deaton."

"What's going on, Stiles? And don't tell me 'nothing' because I  _know_ it's not true.  _Something_ is going on."

"Yeah, Theo betrayed us like I thought he would and Scott thinks I'm a killer," Stiles blurts, laughing shortly, eyes burning with the effort to keep tears at bay. His father flinches a bit at the last part. "Oh, god-,"

"I don't think-," his father begins, but Stiles cuts him off.

"I didn't kill him. I didn't tell anybody he attacked me because there was too much going on. He attacked me, I tried to escape and the scaffolding in the library fell on him," Stiles explains earnestly.

"I believe you," his father says firmly, rubbing his face with a tired hand. "I just- God, Stiles, I need you to  _tell_ me when things like this happen-,"

"I know," Stiles says, frustrated. "I know, but I was  _messed up_ , Dad, he died right there and I just- I went back and his body was _gone_ ," he continues, voice breaking.

"Hey," his father interrupts, eyes shining with sorrow and worry. Stiles hates it, hates the way he makes his father look like he did eight years ago. "I know. Okay? It's okay."

"Yeah," Stiles says quietly, pretending, smiling a little bit so that his father can lay back, a spark of hope and relief kindling in his tired eyes. He can pretend all he has to because there's no way he's letting his father get hurt again. Not for him.

 

* * *

 

Stiles hangs up after trying to call Deaton for what seems to be the thousandth time. He can't get a hold of the man, has left maybe a dozen messages in his voicemail, all varying in intensity and length. He's starting to feel more than a little desperate. Desperate for answers, for rest, for some kind of  _reassurance_. It's frustrating and Stiles hates feeling so helpless, so useless. 

Who do you call when everyone's as lost as you are?

Stiles scrolls through his contact list, watching the names fly by until he pauses, thumb hovering over the name. 

_Derek_.

He remembers getting the man's number. Back when they weren't exactly friends, when Derek would slam him against walls and steering wheels and whatever else was at hand. Back when Stiles had first risked his life for Derek, when he'd walked into the hospital without knowing that he was walking right into a trap. He remembered Derek's voice over the phone, his insistence, his panicked yelling as he tried to tell Stiles to get out.

_Would he even know anything?_ Stiles wonders, staring down at the number on his screen. He wants so desperately to call, to have someone familiar to talk to- but he hates the idea of bringing Derek back. He doesn't want to drag Derek back to Beacon Hills, doesn't want to remind him of the mess that is constant life in the supernatural town. He can't do it, can't walk all over the man's life again. He's been through enough.

Stiles scrolls back up his phone, deciding painfully to take another path.

_"Chris Argent."_

"Hi. Um...this is Stiles," he responds, feeling a lump in his throat as he begins to speak. It's cripplingly comforting, the sound of the older man's voice through the phone. It's a reminder of the way things used to be and he's not ready for it, not ready for the way it hits him like a ton of bricks.

_"Stiles? What happened?"_ Stiles wants to laugh, wants to cry, but he knows what he needs and he can't drag Chris Argent back, either.

"No. Nothing. It's just...helping a friend. Do you...have any information on hell hounds?" The line is silent for a moment and Stiles almost starts to worry before he hears the shuffling of paper on the other end.

_"I used to know one. Or at least I think I did. Hell hounds aren't like werewolves- they're harder to trace, in a way."_

"So how do you know? What is it they do?"

_"It's hard to pinpoint, exactly. They're supposed to be either some kind of guardian or some kind of hunter. It depends on the mythology- and the person, I suppose."_

"So they can be evil? Or are they usually?"

_"Stiles. You should know better than anyone- it's not the creature that's inherently good or bad. It's the use of power."_

"The use of power," Stiles murmurs, turning to his board. The names and lines scrawled on it start to blur and he blinks, trying to focus. "Okay, but what do they  _do_? Do we know  _anything_ about them?"

_"The only records I have of hell hounds seem to place them in two very distinct categories: there are those that hunt and those that protect. The hunters_   _come after the supernatural. The guardians...they're harder to define."_

"So do the hunters just track down and kill anyone? Are they like human hunters?"

_"No. They're gifted in some way. They're attracted to the supernatural- it's easier for them to find supernatural creatures. And they can't die."_

"They can't die?"

_"Not that I'm aware- at least not by traditional methods. Fire, bullets, swords, nothing works on them."_

"Then what about the guardians? What do they do?" Stiles asks, tapping his marker against his thigh. There's a steady list growing on the side of his board.

_"It's difficult to say. Hell hounds are instinctively drawn to the supernatural. There are records of attempts to create hell hounds- it's not clear whether it's hereditary or some sort of transformation, like a bite. Either way, sometimes hell hounds are tasked or created for a purpose- to guard a place, or sometimes an object."_

"Right. I understand that- but how do you know? How do you know what a hell hound's purpose is and can they even control it?"

_"I don't know. The only one I knew was a man I met briefly after I'd been a hunter for maybe fifteen years. He was supposedly connected to a small town in Ireland. The way he explained it, he would seek out supernatural creatures within his town and provide assistance and protection. I think he worked for some kind of local policing department. He would offer places for people to stay and he'd try to keep them safe."_

"So he was just like any other person in the know, except he could find these people easily," Stiles replies, feeling a weight lift from his chest.

_"Well, yes. But he did mention having to...dispose of some threats. He said there was a time when a werewolf passed through and attempted to take control. From what I understand, the hell hound responded by warning him away...and disposing of the body when it turned up."_

"He killed him?" Stiles asks faintly, a pit of dread threatening to form at the bottom of his stomach.

_"I'm not sure. Something about the way he said it...you could take it to mean that he killed the man, but I don't think he did. It seemed more like he was able to conveniently be in the right place at the right time."_

"The right place, huh," Stiles laughs bitterly, looking at the map of scrawled names and places. 

_"Not that it's my business...but if your friend is living in Beacon Hills, there's a chance they may be either be connected to the city or possibly the Nemeton. Or maybe the Nemeton drew them there."_

"Yeah. Maybe," Stiles says, suddenly tired of the whole thing. It's been a long week and a long month and to be honest, he really just wants a shower and some sleep.

_"Look...don't get too caught up in all the mess,"_ Argent says suddenly and his tone seems almost fatherly.  _"If you need to leave...well, it's not the best place. How is your father?"_ The question hits Stiles somewhere in the gut and he inhales sharply.

"Fine," Stiles lies, trying to sound convincing. "We just...rough week. We're fine, though." There's a moment of silence on the line and Stiles prays that Chris doesn't push the subject.

_"Hm. And Scott?"_

Memories of the Vet's Office flood unwanted back into Stiles' mind. He hadn't realized he'd been trying to suppress it but he can suddenly smell the rain, feel the weight of the wrench in his hand. He can see Scott's face, the worry and fear and alienation stark in the wake of an encounter with Theo. He hadn't wanted to think about this, he isn't ready for it and he tries desperately to cover the shaking of his voice.

"He- I don't- fine, he's fine," Stiles lies terribly, trying desperately to save face even when he knows it's clear something is wrong. "Um, I have to- I need to go. Thanks. For everything," Stiles adds, putting as much conviction as possible into his words.

He hangs up and stares at his board for fifteen minutes straight, trying to get the tears back into his body where the traitors belong. He can't think of Scott, can't consider his best friend and the way Scott looked at him like Stiles was a killer. Even now, after Scott has probably realized that Theo is the problem, has always been the problem, there seems to be no way for them to go back. Stiles knows Scott, knows his morals and his beliefs- and there's no way Scott would just accept Stiles back again. There may not even be a chance for Stiles to explain himself and that is what kills him the most. That they could end, could already have ended, without Stiles having explained. Explained from the beginning, explained why he'd kept it a secret and how he hadn't wanted to kill Donovan, how he'd never wanted any of it to happen.

It's too late to fix the pain, Stiles thinks, but it's up to Scott whether it's too late to fix the injury.

 

* * *

 

  _"They're taking Lydia to Eichen House,"_  Melissa says and Stiles almost drops his phone.

"They can't," Stiles says automatically and he feels his pulse beating thickly, can smell the dark cellar and see the cracked hole in the wall. 

_"Stiles, she's catatonic. She woke up, but...she's not responding. Something's wrong."_

"Yeah, Theo  _forced_  memories out of her. Whatever he did, it wasn't kind," Stiles manages to bite out.

_"Well, I can't do anything for her now. And I'm not sure you can, either."_

When Sties hangs up he's already got one arm of his jacket on, keys in hand.

 

* * *

 

 

"Come on," Stiles says when Parrish opens the door. The man doesn't look as tired as he used to and Stiles thinks maybe he took his advice and slept. 

"What's happening?" Parrish asks, moving quickly to grab a jacket and keys. 

"Bring your gun," Stiles replies, giving Parrish a significant look when the man hesitates. "We're going to Eichen."

"Wait- what's at Eichen? Isn't that the  _last_ place  _anyone_  wants to be? From what I hear, your last few trips didn't end too well." _  
_

"Thanks for reminding me," Stiles says shortly, "Drive."

"I still don't know why we're going," Parrish says after they pull out onto the street. Stiles glances at the man out of the corner of his eyes, praying that things won't go so terribly this time.

"They took Lydia there."

" _What?!"_

Stiles lurches back in his seat, hissing at the sudden acceleration.

"Slow the fuck down, Parrish.  _NOW,_ " Stiles grits through his teeth. "Melissa called me about an hour ago-,"

"An  _hour_? She's been in there an hour already?" Stiles shoots a venomous look at Parrish, trying not to let his anger boil over too much.

"Yes. An hour. The last time we  _charged_ into Eichen we ended up destroying the protective barriers that kept the nasties downstairs contained."

"So, what? You have a plan?"

"Yeah, I do," Stiles replies, lifting his backpack from where it sits between his feet. "I don't know what this stuff does to you but I've got the supplies to keep away as many creatures as I can."

"Where'd you get all that stuff?" Parrish asks, glancing over at the bottles and bags in Stiles' backpack.

"I had to learn how to keep safe," Stiles says dryly. "What with our reputation for having a new monster every month."

They drive in relative silence the rest of the way, Stiles stuffing bottles and bags into his pockets while Parrish grasps the steering wheel in a vice-like grip. Stiles can feel the nameless emotion rising in his chest and he's suddenly terrified, worried that this is what it feels like to be a killer. He says he doesn't want to kill anyone and he knows it's true but there's something terrifying about the feeling in his heart. He's scared of himself.

When they pull up to Eichen the lights from the hospital illuminate the night like soulless eyes. Stiles swings out of Parrish's car, fingers nervously gripping a bottle of wolsbane nestled in his jacket. 

 "What's the plan?" Parrish asks as they walk through the gates. Stiles imagines he can feel a loss, some sort of crackling electricity imbalanced by Kira's visit. 

"You're here to get her out. I'll hang back- if we need to get out quickly I'll bring up the tail."

"Is that a good idea? You may have some kind of charms, or whatever, but-,"

"We don't have any other options," Stiles cuts him off, feeling his heart pound in his chest. He can imagine Lydia somewhere in Eichen, terrified and injured, and he knows he's right. "Let's go."

The nurses inside are just as menacing as Stiles remembers them to be. There's something wrong, though, and he can tell by the dim buzz that betrays sudden silence after too much noise.

"I'm here to retrieve a patient," Parrish says to the orderly at the desk and the man looks up at Parrish with a sickly smile. 

"Sure you are. And how about I get you the keys to the medicine cabinet while I'm at it?"

Stiles bites his tongue and watches as Parrish leans forward, arms flexing slightly as he leans on the counter. 

"Do I need to show you my warrant, or do I have to arrest you for obstruction of justice? I prefer the second," Parrish says, titling his head. Stiles freezes.

_Justice._

The word echoes in his head and something within him roars to life. He can't contain it; it's like a wildfire spreading through his limbs. He suddenly  _knows._

"You know this is right," Stiles says and somewhere within himself he is dazed, watching his body move and his mouth speak. "Don't you?"

The orderly gives Stiles a vaguely unnerved look tinged with disgust. Stiles looks at the man,  _really_ looks, and he notices a thin chain around his neck. The vague outline of a ring protrudes from the man's off-white uniform.

"Maybe  _you_ should check in."

"Maybe you should remember your mother," Stiles says suddenly and he's not sure why he says it but he knows it's right. "What did she tell you before she died? When she gave you that ring?"

The orderly moves away from him, chair squeaking loudly against the tiles. The man is pale and Stiles holds his gaze, aware of Parrish but certain that he's doing the right thing. 

"What do you- how do you-,"

"Do the right thing," Stiles says softly and the man jumps to his feet, chalk-grey, to slam the gate button down. 

"What was that?" Parrish whispers as he follows Stiles to the patient ward. 

"Justice," Stiles says quietly and he leaves it at that as they make their way further in.

"How are we supposed to find her?"

"You know how," Stiles says, glancing down the hallway. "Hell hounds are drawn to the supernatural."

"Yeah, well, this whole  _place_ is crawling with supernatural creatures. How am I supposed to single one out?"

"That's up to you to figure out," Stiles says firmly, keeping an eye on the door. "I don't have all the answers for you.  _Think. Try._ It's  _in_ you."

Parrish looks lost, frustrated, but he nods sharply and exhales, looking around.

"When Lydia tried to make me remember, she...we fought. Practiced."

"Will it help you?"

"I think so," Parrish says, determined. Stiles nods sharply, turning to face the man. He's the Sheriff's kid. He knows a few things.

Parrish swings closed fist and Stiles blocks it easily, shifting his feet, ignoring the weight of the wolfsbane in his pocket. They move slowly for a minute or so, getting a feel for each other. The pace picks up. Stiles shuffles, following Parrish as he moves. They're lost in the moment and then Parrish throws a nasty swing, grabbing Stiles' arm and propelling him towards the wall. Stiles feels the blunt impact a little harder than it should be, breath escaping his lungs. He looks up to see Parrish's eyes glowing golden-orange. 

"There," Parrish breathes suddenly, turning on his heel to run down the hallway to the left. Stiles follows him as the man turns left, then right, following some invisible trail. Parrish slides to a stop, feet slowing before a dirty door. He's looking in through the cloudy window and suddenly he growls, teeth bared and angry.

"No," Stiles breathes, watching the nurse inside with his needle, pacing around Lydia as she lies motionless in bed. 

_"You shouldn't have done that,"_  the nurse says, tapping the needle. Lydia's feet are dirty, as if she's been running around. Parrish reels back, eyes on fire, and kicks the door open.

 

* * *

 

 

The escape is not what he thought it would be. Stiles watches Parrish knock the door down, sees the man lift the nurse away from Lydia and onto the wall. Stiles walks up to them, gazing up at the man. He looks at the nurse and suddenly knows- he knows, somehow, that this man is evil. That he enjoys hurting his patients, that he does terrible things to people that can't fight back. Stiles instinctively moves, placing his hand over the man's forehead to hold him in place, make him look Stiles in the eye.

"Think about what you've done," Stiles murmurs, somehow filled with a righteous fury. He lets the man go, turns and hears Parrish following him. The sound of the nurse falling to the floor is muffled. 

Lydia is silently crying. Stiles isn't quite sure what's wrong but he smooths her hair away from her face, suddenly weary and sad and worried. 

"Shh. We're getting you out of here," Stiles whispers, trying to smile through the tears threatening his eyes. Parrish moves around to the side of the bed, lifting Lydia easily in his arms. Stiles thinks he sees the ghost of a smile on her lips.

They leave the hospital without anyone stopping them and Stiles thinks that for once, things haven't gone to hell.

Yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another one bites the dust...  
> This chapter was supposed to be posted yesterday but I didn't get to finish it. Thankfully I got it done today pretty quickly. Hopefully you all are still following! I know it's been pretty dark lately but the idea is that this will be a slow recovery from the mess Theo made in Season 5.   
> I brought Lydia back in the mix because I think her relationship with Parrish is important and I hated the idea of her being catatonic all through Season 5B. I figured she'd be taken to Eichen House and maybe the scenes (shower, attempt to escape) showed at the beginning of S5 were not going to be her entire state in 5B. Hopefully it's like Derek's de-aging stint and it won't last more than an episode! Anyways, I hope you enjoyed and as always don't forget to review and share!


	4. Mnemosyne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lydia is still asleep and Stiles decides to look for answers. Things don't turn out how he thinks they will, though, and he and Parrish are left with more answers than they anticipated.

“Why isn’t she waking up?”

Stiles wonders how Parrish does it. He’s not commanding, really, but you get the sense that you should answer him. And you do.

“I don’t know,” Stiles says quietly, elbows leaning on his knees, hands clasped as if in prayer. Parrish shakes his head. It's been two days and Stiles keeps looking out the windows, expecting the police or maybe nurses from Eichen.

“Look, I know you aren’t on good terms but maybe we should-,”

“Scott won’t know what to do,” Stiles says, exasperated. “He had basic training from me.”

“Well, maybe Derek told him something.”

“No. I’m not even sure he would know what to do. Theo is a chimera; he isn’t supposed to exist.”

“So you don’t think there could have been a precedent for forcefully taking memories?”

“I don’t know, Parrish. I can’t even begin to explain to you how much I don’t know about this.”

They’re silent for a moment and Stiles inhales, pulling himself upright.

“Where are you going?” Parrish asks, following Stiles into the living room.

“To the clinic. There are books there that might help,” Stiles says shortly, gathering his backpack.

 

 

* * *

 

 

‘Secret training’ sound negative. Stiles prefers to call his meetings with Deaton ‘private lessons’. They’d started after the nogitsune mess, Deaton passing on whatever knowledge he felt was important. Stiles had explained he only wanted to be able to protect himself, and others. The months had passed without incident and Stiles had begun to dread the inevitable start of something new and terrible.

It had come the night of Senior Scribe and he’d known that things would never really be the same.

Stiles uses the key copy Deaton gave him to get in. He has no idea where the man is but he hopes he’s safe, away from the mess Beacon Hills has become once again. Stiles slips into the back, opening a cabinet. He hears a faint noise.

Stiles freezes, not  breathing, trying to remain silent and stationary. They’re footsteps.

He grabs wolfsbane and a silver scalpel from the counter, hoping the table between himself and the door will gain him some time. The footsteps round the corner.

It’s a girl.

He’s not sure how old she is; she looks like she’s between the fuzzy area of high school and college. She’s wearing a black dress, sweater and jacket pulled close against her chest. Her tights and boots are black, the bottoms dusted with dead leaves. Her eyes are wide and dark, framed by hair that’s almost white. There’s a shaved spot on the left side of her head, a strange, circular bald spot resting above her ear.

“Who are you?” she asks and her tone is firm but cautious.

“I work here,” Stiles says evasively, the white lie the quickest response he can come up with. “Who are you?”

The girl scrutinizes Stiles, taking a step forward, and he tenses. She seems to notice, stopping, shivering a little from the cold.

“Do you know Theo?”

Stiles swallows, trying to gauge whether or not she’s human. He isn’t about to piss off one of Theo’s pack. He just wants to get out alive.

“Theo was in town. I don’t know where he is now,” Stiles says firmly.

The girl seems to read something in Stiles’ face and she relaxes, sighing, and starts towards Stiles. He flinches and reflexively tosses the wolfsbane in an arc before him.

The girl pauses, blinking, and coughs.

“That wasn’t very nice,” she says dryly, sniffling from the powder.

“ Better safe than sorry,” Stiles replies, watching her carefully as she advances.

The girl pulls cabinets open, searching, taking bottles and jars out. She seems to know what she’s doing.

“So you’re looking for Theo?” Stiles asks, slowly returning to the books.

“I’m a skeleton from his closet,” the girl reassures him, smirking a little.

“You don’t look like a skeleton,” Stiles remarks and he notices the smirk fall and her hand tense around a jar.

“Scars are skin-deep. The pain goes further,” the girl says darkly, dumping a few things into her pockets. “What are you looking for down there?”

“A way to keep my friend from turning into a skeleton,” Stiles replies evasively.

“He hurt you friend,” the girl says, more of a statement than a question.

“I just need to help her before something bad happens.”

They stand in a moment of silence, assessing. Stiles still isn’t sure he can trust the girl.

“I’m Ari,” the girl says, extending her hand.

“Stiles.”

“What did Theo do?”

“He forcibly took memories,” Stiles bites out, shoving the books into his backpack. Ari inhales sharply.

“I guess it’s a good thing you found me. I think I can help.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Parrish doesn’t look too happy when he opens the door to Stiles and Ari.

“Who is this?” he asks Stiles, guarded.

“She’s here to help, Parrish” Stiles responds, hoping it’s the truth. He can’t afford another betrayal.

When Ari enters, Parrish holds Stiles back.

“How do we know we can trust her?”

“Theo hurt her, too,” Stiles whispers fiercely, believing in that much.

When they get inside Ari is already at Lydia’s side, cross-legged on a chair.

“What are you going to do?” Parrish asks.

“Well, I was going to meditate first,” Ari murmurs, raising an eyebrow over her closed lids. The movement reminds Stiles of Derek and he finds himself wanting to laugh.

They’re silent for a few minutes as Ari breathes deeply, hands resting limply on her knees. She raises her left hand after a moment and Stiles notices a thin band on her pinkie. The ring seems to be turned upside down and he can barely see what looks like a clear crystal.

“Lydia, I’m going to take your pain,” Ari says quietly, moving her hand over Lydia’s abdomen. “I know you’re hurt. Let me help you.”

As they watch, the crystal seems to flicker orange, brightly sparking. Ari’s breathing seems shallow, controlled but pained. Stiles glances at Parrish. The man looks worried but he’s watching Lydia’s face, tense.

Ari retracts her hand and Stiles notices it shaking as she puts it back on her knee. Her right hand moves forward next, hovering over the same spot.

“Here is your power. Feel it. You have power, Lydia, reach out for it,” Ari recites and Stiles feels like it’s a prayer of some sort. Her hand moves. “Feel your heart. You want to return. Answer the call. Use your heart to heal your mind.”

Stiles waits, watching. Parrish looks desperate.

“Here is your throat. Expression. Connect with us, Lydia. Communicate.”

Lydia’s fingers move slightly and Parrish moves forward, ready, but Stiles stops him. Something is happening that he knows they shouldn’t interrupt. Ari’s hand moves.

“Your Third Eye controls perception. Recognize the world around you, slowly, coming back into this world. Emerge from your dream.”

Stiles can see Lydia’s eyes moving beneath her closed eyelids. Parrish grips the edge of the bed, burning to move.

“I want you to prepare yourself. This is your crown, Lydia. It’s your will, your connection, your spirit. Answer to it. Wake up.”

Lydia gasps, inhaling suddenly, and Parrish moves to her. She briefly screams, fingers gripping the sheets as if she’s come out of a nightmare. Stiles exhales, tears in his eyes, sinking into his chair. He didn’t realize how much he was trying to hold himself together, hold the fraying edges of his mind until something good finally happened.

He notices Ari leave the room, left hand held to her chest.

He knows they can trust her.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Lydia is in the shower when Parrish emerges from the bedroom, joining Stiles at the table.

“How is she?” Stiles asks, watching Ari as she sleeps on the couch. Her hand hangs off the edge.

“Tired. Hurt. But she’s awake,” Parrish says, sounding as if he still doesn’t believe it. He follows Stiles’ eyes. “Where did you find her?”

“She found me. She was in the clinic.”

“Why was she there?”

“I’m not sure. She took some things, so maybe she wanted supplies.”

They’re silent, listening to the sound of the water through the walls. It makes things seem almost normal.

“So what now?” Parrish asks quietly, rubbing his face with tired hands.

“You still don’t know much about yourself,” Stiles points out, missing the sound of the shower when it stops. It was therapeutic, like white noise.

“Maybe I don’t need to. Stiles, this place is getting worse. Maybe it’s better if I leave. If we leave.”

“What will leaving do?” Stiles demands, frustrated.

“Cora left,” Lydia says from the bedroom doorway, arms crossed against a sweatshirt borrowed from Parrish. “Derek, Chris, Isaac- they all left. Even Kira did, for a while.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that they’re all still Hunters and werewolves,” Stiles reminds her, watching as she moves to stand behind Parrish. “How do you know leaving will help?”

“If the Nemeton is a beacon, maybe leaving will help,” Parrish explains, holding Lydia’s hand.

“You won’t change,” Stiles reminds him, suddenly exhausted.

“He won’t,” Ari says from the couch, rising groggily. Her voice is rough. “I know his type.”

“You knew someone like me?” Parrish asks, turning.

“I did. For a short while, when I was in Ireland.”

“What do you know?” Lydia asks, tense.

“You’re a guard dog,” Ari says jokingly, a corner of her lip turning upwards. “Your kind are usually put in charge of protecting a town or city. More specifically, you keep the balance of ignorance and secrecy between humans and everyone else.”

“So you aren’t evil,” Stiles sighs, resting his head in his hands. He feels like he’s been rescued from being buried alive. It’s like he can breathe again.

“Not usually,” Ari says mildly. “But, like anything else, it depends on the Hellhound. When were you bound?”

The room is silent.

“...do you….know?” Ari prompts, expectant.

“I don’t know what that means,” Parrish says, annoyed.

“Interesting. Usually Hell Hounds are made specifically to protect a certain place. They’re bound with some sort of death- the death of a human or a supernatural creature. The death upsets the balance and a Druid or witch can usually invoke a Hell Hound. A human intermediary can accept a kind of symbiosis with the entity, receiving some kind of power in return for giving the Hellhound a physical body.”

“I didn’t do that,” Parrish says, confused. He looks to Lydia for support. “I never-,”

“Maybe it wasn’t a conscious act,” Ari muses. “It’s possible. Not likely, but possible. If someone died and you felt sorrow for it, you could have unknowingly accepted a Hellhound. Someone would have had to invoke one, though. They may not have done it right if you were never informed.”

“Well, at least we know that you’re not evil,” Stiles jokes tiredly. Parrish huffs in agreement.

“At least we know what my condition is. What about yours?”

“What about Stiles?” Lydia asks, worried. Stiles knows what she’s thinking. Memories of the nogitsune and the hospital come back to him and he desperately wishes them away.

“When we went to Eichen...he did something odd,” Parrish begins cautiously, watching Stiles.

“It was weird. Like I knew what to say to make him do the right thing,” Stiles says, dazed.

Ari watches him, eyes narrowed, before walking around the couch.

“What exactly happened?”

“I don’t know,” Stiles replies, swallowing nervously. “Parrish said something about justice and then I saw the aide’s necklace...I just knew, somehow, what to say.”

“Your real name isn’t Stiles,” Ari says suddenly, her eyes widening as she watches him.

“...no, it isn’t,” Stiles says, caught off guard. “What-,”

“Ari isn’t my name,” she replies, twisting the ring on her finger. The orange has almost disappeared from it. “Ari is what I chose. It belongs to me- my consciousness, my memories, my human self.”

“What are you saying?” Lydia asks, eyes wide. “Stiles isn’t human?”

“No. He probably is. Something about him, though, makes him the perfect vessel.”

Stiles feels his mouth open. He remembers the possession, how he fought so hard to try and get the nogitsune out. It had taken two of his friends and too many days to get the spirit out.

“The nogitsune,” Lydia says, voicing his realization.

“I think you’re human, Stiles,” Ari says. “You’re very human. That’s what makes you perfect.”

“So am I possessed right now?” Stiles asks shakily, feeling the sweat on his palms. He doesn’t want this again. He can taste the medication from Eichen in his mouth.

“No. No, you’re more like your Hellhound friend right now. You have a connection- I think you were meant to have the connection. That name you were given- your real name- it was probably pledged to something. A god, or an angel. Something you were supposed to have a connection with, for religious or sentimental reasons. The nogitsune may have interrupted it, but now you’re in tune with the connection.”

“My name was pledged?”

“You mean like when someone names their child after an angel?” Lydia asks and Stiles can see the gears turning in her mind.

“Exactly. Except with Stiles, he has a true connection. It doesn’t mean that he was named after someone else. It just means that his name was given. You know the term ‘given name’? Humans originally named children after traits, relatives, deities- anything that could guide the child’s path and personality. True power doesn’t come from mimicking, though. It comes from sacrifice.”

“Giving a name,” Lydia murmurs, looking at Stiles. “Names have power.”

“You give power, you receive power,” Ari says quietly. “Stiles is receiving power. Just like Parrish.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this THREE TIMES. My Google Chrome window closed and obviously AO doesn't autosave work. So, here is rewrite #3. It's not what I originally did (obviously) but I'd like to think it's still pretty good. There will probably be one more chapter in this part of the story and then we'll continue to the real meat of the matter. I know it seems like everything is happening quickly (is it?) but that's probably because my chapters have been so short. I'd like them longer, but time.  
> Anyways, I hope you're prepared for the inevitable choices they face. Stay? Leave? Talk to Scott? Confront Theo? Who the f*** is Ari, really?  
> Thanks for keeping up and don't forget to comment. I want to know what you think!


	5. 1: Prelude to War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lydia and Parrish make their decision. Stiles has to make his own- and Ari is willing to help.

"We're leaving, Stiles."

Lydia is sad. He can tell, can hear it in every word that falls from her lips. She is sorry.

"Yeah," he murmurs, almost as if he already knew. Maybe, in some ways, he did. "Yeah. It'll be good for you."

She explains something about a friend and a place to stay, Parrish's decision and how it was lucky the school year had just ended.

Lucky.

In the end, he watches them go, waves them away and pretends he isn't breaking a little more inside.

When he gets home that day, he tears down the papers on his wall, ripping yarn and watching it unravel as it splits on the thumbtacks. He breathes heavily, pretending that it's not tears that are making his eyes burn, pretending that it's a lack of sleep and the constant worry that something is after him. Things will never be the same, he knows. He tries to tell himself that it's always how the year goes, how it's been going since freshman year, but this is different. _Never the same_.

He stands there in the ruin of his bedroom and thinks, what now?

"Stiles."

He whips around, heart jumping into his throat, and he tries not to think about how it feels good because it's a feeling and not the numbness that's become his constant companion.

"Ari. How did you get in?" He swallows past the lump that grows in his throat and can't bring himself to feel worried about how she did it. The last time he saw her, she was passed out on his couch, sleeping off whatever effects came with healing Lydia.

"I don't really have any money," she says, huffing a laugh void of joy. Something in the way she does it reminds him of himself. Tired, sad, broken down. "I just never left."

Stiles laughs too and it's not really happy but it's not the tortured mess that his life has become, either. He remembers that they're all young, teenagers- they don't have money, their _parents_ don't even really have money.

"Well, you can stay here, if you want."

"I think if I stay, I should probably explain a few things," Ari replies and the smile on her face is a little more real. "I like that you trust me, though. I'm not sure what I've done to earn it."

"You saved Lydia," Stiles reminds her, but it's not just that, really. There's something about her- some kind of aura, a _feeling_ \- that makes him trust her.

"She helped."

Stiles nods, accepts that there are more important things they need to talk about. He ducks his head and she moves out of the doorway, letting him lead the way downstairs. It's only eight and he's tired, ready to make a cup of hot chocolate so that they can talk and then he can hopefully go to sleep and forget things for a little while. If he doesn't have nightmares.

"You said you knew Theo," Stiles begins, filling a pot with water.

"I did. I used to live here, you know," Ari adds, smiling ironically. "I knew him and his sister. We were friends."

"What happened?"

"He started spending time with other kids. I felt a little left behind. It didn't matter, though- when he moved, we moved too."

"To the same place?" Stiles asks, startled.

"Funny, huh?" Ari replies, but she isn't laughing. "It felt like a coincidence to me. I thought it was because both our parents needed to move to a bigger town for work."

"It wasn't?"

"Not really. I don't know the details, but I know his sister died here, in Beacon Hills. When we left, I didn't see him for years. It wasn't until high school that I saw him again- and then, he was different."

"A chimera."

"Stiles, I don't know how long he's been doing whatever it is he's trying to accomplish with the Doctors. All I know is that he's dangerous. When I saw him again in high school, he tried to be friends with me again. At first I was happy but then- I _knew_ there was something off with him. I knew he was dangerous and I tried to get away from him."

"Did he do something?" Stiles asks, insistent. If there's any clues about _what_ Theo is doing, he wants to know. He wants this to _stop_.

"Not at first. But something- a chimera he helped create- it went after my family. I'm the only one left."

He's not sure what he expected. Maybe that Ari would be a chimera, or some other sort of supernatural creature. He didn't expect her to be... _human_.

"So he killed your family," Stiles says numbly and he knows it's simplification but it's _true_. It's true in the way he has bodies under his name, right below the stain of possession.

"He almost killed me," Ari murmurs and she accepts the mug Stiles passes her, wrapping her hands around it as if it's the first time she's touched a cup.

"How did you survive?"

"I always wanted to be an actress," she smirks over the rim of her mug, taking a sip. "He's just a teenager, Stiles. He makes a very good audience."

 

* * *

 

 

The night passes and Stiles wakes up too early, strangely energized by how much he's slept in the past day. He can smell breakfast as he goes downstairs and it's like walking into the Twilight Zone, somewhere he isn't the adult in the house, somewhere he doesn't cook and clean.

"If you don't like anything, let me know," Ari says without turning around, her hand arched over a skillet as she pours pancake batter.

"Thanks," Stiles replies, trying to convey everything he means into the one word. _Thank you for helping Lydia. Parrish. Me. Thank you for showing up. For existing. For understanding._

The food is good and he is surprised at how hungry he is. Ari sits next to him, sipping her apple juice as she waits for him to get through.

"What are your plans?"

"My dad gets out today," Stiles replies, tasting the words as he tastes his pancakes. He never enjoys his father- or himself, for that matter- in the hospital. He just doesn't like hospitals much, really.

Ari nods, rising to put her glass in the dishwasher.

"You should be with him. Talk things through."

"I'm not leaving," Stiles says after a moment of silence, watching her carefully for a reaction. She simply sits again, crossing her arms on the table, waiting.

"It might be easier. I have places to stay if you need them. We could try to figure things out." None of her words are pushy. They're options, he knows. He's grateful for them.

"I can't leave. I may not...Scott may not be talking to me, but I can't just go," Stiles manages, a familiar twinge constricting his heart at the thought of his best friend. "Malia, Kira, Liam- they all need help. I don't know if Scott will give it to them, but if not- I have to be here for them. I can't abandon them."

"Like he abandoned you?" Ari asks softly. It's not a threat or bait. She's pointing out the obvious. He knows that, but it doesn't make it hurt less.

"Maybe. But I'm not going to be the one to let things fall apart just because I _think_ he'll never forgive me."

Ari smiles, rising to put on the jacket she had draped over her chair. He sees a curious edge of black under the watch on her left wrist, there and gone in a minute. He fleetingly wonders if it's a tattoo.

"Well, let's go pick up your father."

 

* * *

 

 

The hospital is oddly quiet. Maybe it's the early morning hour, or maybe it's the hush of the eye of the storm. Either way, Stiles is grateful to walk in without hearing the wails of injured people and the crush of frantic bodies. His father is up when they get to his room, watching him carefully pull on a jacket. His movements are stiff, sore.

"Dad," Stiles says as he enters, letting relief color his rebuke.

"Hey," his father says, smiling in the weary way he has. His father wears his work on his face- he always seems just a little tired, just a little rugged. It was never really a bad thing until he got involved in the supernatural. "Who's this?"

"Ari, sir," Ari says and Stiles can see her eyes twinkling as she extends her hand to him, the handshake slow and deliberate as the man before them goes from father to Sheriff, cautious.

"And are you...," he begins and Stiles isn't sure where the question was going but thankfully Ari saves them all from an awkward moment.

"Very much human at the moment? Yes. I even burned my finger this morning. Your pans heat very quickly," Ari notes, all in the casual air of someone discussing the weather.

Stiles' father huffs out a laugh, glancing at his son with a look that seems both exasperated and amused.

"Nice to know the kitchen's being used again," he replies easily, but Stiles can already tell where the conversation is headed. "Though I wasn't aware we had a guest."

"Well, we owe her," Stiles interrupts, sending his father a significant look.

"Something tells me I have some catching up to do."

 

* * *

 

 

They get home in Ari's car, the keys willingly relinquished to Stiles so that he and his father can sit in the front together. Ari studiously looks out the windows as they make their way back, absorbing the surroundings just in case the Stilinskis decide to talk.

Thankfully, they wait until they're home to do any kind of talking. Ari pulls lasagna out of the oven where it's been waiting and Stiles catches his dad sending him a look with a raised eyebrow. He knows the look. It's the same look he gives Stiles when Scott invites them over for dinner or Lydia makes her way to their house to add a 'feminine touch'.

"So who exactly are you?"

Ari smiles at the question, passing them plates as she sets a bowl of salad on the table next to the hot casserole dish.

"I like you two. Getting down to business seems to be your specialty."

Stiles snorts, filling their glasses with water.

"Well, I knew Theo before he did whatever he's trying to do now. One of his faulty experiments wiped out my family and left me for dead," Ari says calmly and Stiles wonders at how she does it.

He would be stupid to think it doesn't hurt. But for all the world she seems to know how to handle herself.

"So he's been doing this for a while," the sheriff says, tapping his glass with a finger.

"He has. The doctors are dangerous and Theo is too- but they're working towards something worse. We _have_ to find out what and prepare ourselves or the wall between the supernatural and the average will get a _lot_ thinner."

They eat lunch slowly, Ari answering questions from Stiles' father as Stiles sits and thinks. He can't stop worrying, can't help remembering a very different time when he didn't know where his friends were or what was happening. Back when Erica and Boyd were missing, when Lydia was dealing with her own problems. When Scott had left Stiles alone all summer and Stiles had done the unthinkable.

His father interrupts his thoughts as they're finishing lunch.

"So what next?"

It's the question everyone is asking themselves. If Stiles were frank, 'winging it' would probably be the best way to describe his life- everyone's lives, really- since freshman year. Plans either never existed, failed miserably, or left a trail of destruction in their path. There were no real plans. It was fine at first, the adrenaline keeping up with the constant changes and threats. Now, things are happening too fast. Too much.

"That's up to you," Ari begins slowly, glancing between the two. "You can elect to ignore it. Continue with the two of you, keep up with the threats as they come. You can leave. Distance yourselves, hope to save what you have left and leave the trouble behind you. Or you can fight it. You can research, put yourself in the thick of things, risk everything."

"None of this seems very good," the sheriff sighs, rubbing his face tiredly. Stiles feels a pang, familiar pain flooding his body as he remembers that this is _his fault_. His father shouldn't have anything to do with this.

"No. But maybe it's better than you think," Ari says kindly. "From what I hear, there's a good pack that can do a lot of good. They're broken, maybe- but broken things can be fixed."

"That's nice, but you don't know what we've been through," Stiles says darkly and he doesn't want to sound like a thirteen year-old but he can't help it. It's true.

"I do," Ari says simply. "Word travels, you know. I know about the Hales," she starts and Stiles feels his heart skip at the name he's tried so hard to keep in the back of his mind. "I know about the Alpha Pack. The Nogitsune. Theo's work."

"And _how_ do you know?" the sheriff asks, stern again but also curious.

"I've moved around a bit for the past few years. I've worked with small packs, emissaries here and there. What happens ripples through the community- it's not large, but when you know the right people it's like a web. Hunters talk, werewolves talk, druids talk. Everyone talks- you just have to listen."

"And what have you heard that can help us?"

"I haven't heard much. What I do know, though, is that Stiles is different. He has the potential to learn how to protect himself and others, if he's willing to learn."

"What potential?" Stiles watches his father's attention shift to him, the look in his eyes mixed worry and hope.

"The only way I can explain it is that he'll be a little like Deaton- with training, he can learn what to use against different creatures. He'll learn how to use objects and nature to protect, defend, and maybe even attack."

"And you'll teach him?"

Ari sighs, resting her forearms on the table. She looks resigned.

"I can. It would work better if we went to one of the packs I've stayed with before, reach out to other druids for help- but I can do it. We don't have much time and he needs to be ready."

"Is it dangerous?"

"Everything is dangerous," Ari says, her lips twisting into a tired smile. "For Stiles, though- no. Imagine it's like a cooking class where you make mace instead of macaroni."

Stiles snorts, shaking his head, but he feels a twinge of triumph. There is something he can do, something that will help.

If he can learn how to protect even one person, he doesn't care what it takes.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> College is time-consuming.   
> Anyways, in other obvious news, it took me a while to find time for this. I wanted the chapter to be longer, but it's almost 3 AM where I am and I can't afford it with my dorm WiFi going out so often. Now, we have short bits to set the stage for the eventuality of some serious shi*t going down. In the future, I hope to do some of the following:  
>  \- have Stiles and Scott talk it out  
>  \- have Papa Argent get involved  
>  \- have Ari help Stiles tap into his power  
>  \- have a friendly face to help bolster the fight against Theo


	6. Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles' training with Ari begins and he finds himself revisiting the past. After seeing a familiar face, he realizes it's time to try and reconcile with Scott one more time. The results are different than what he expects.

Stiles rolled over in bed, groaning quietly as he felt the sand in his mouth. He was getting used to waking up dehydrated, a side effect of not paying attention to basic needs when he was training during the day.

Training.

A summer ago, when Erica and Boyd had been missing, he had made a choice that changed him. Derek had showed up at his window at 2 AM, somewhat awkward in the familiar position. Stiles had been at his desk, researching.

“ _ Shit _ , dude, can’t you just-,” Stiles cut himself off, letting out a frustrated groan, hands rubbing at his burning eyes. He wanted to say ‘be normal’ but the hypocrisy and cruelty of it warned him not to.

“I need help,” Derek said and Stiles blinked, squinting at the older man.

“The first step is admitting you have a problem,” Stiles muttered but in his chest his heart was threatening to beat its way out. 

Derek didn’t ask for help. He didn’t even  _ admit _ he needed help. He never did any of what he was doing right then.

“Listen. Deaton isn’t in town and I need help tracking something.”

And so it had gone. Stiles had helped Derek and it was wonderful, awkward and terrible at first but then comfortable and  _ right _ as time wore on. It was perfect and Stiles had felt  _ needed _ and  _ wanted _ . He hadn’t known how to cope with it at first, this sudden partnership that just seemed to work. It felt right, better to work with just the two of them- the stereotypical brains and brawn.

When it ended it hurt like a bitch- and Stiles still missed it.

He had traced the name  _ HALE _ at Senior Scribe, remembered Derek’s laugh and the way he’d tossed a shirt to Stiles. It had all come flooding back.

Sometimes he’d wished he’d never opened himself up in the first place.

 

* * *

“ _ Defend _ , Stiles. I know you know how,” Ari yells, once again scraping Stiles’ elbow.

“Knowing and doing are two different things,” Stiles grinds out, angrily wiping away blood.

It’s easy to practice in the old bank. Stiles hates it and the first few nights he’d woken up in bed screaming but there was no way around it. The bank is abandoned and out of the way, walls thick enough to muffle most sounds. Ari had explained this, offering the woods as a possible alternative.

Stiles had said no. The woods were for the wolves. His world was concrete, cement, and a metal bat.

“Remember. Keep your shoulders raised. It’s easier to defend when your jaw is intact.”

She whirls at him, fingers curved and extended like claws. The kick of her heavy boots hurt, he knows, and they are one of the first things he always tries to avoid.  _ Broken leg, broken neck, _ Ari liked to say.  _ If your opponent gets you on the ground, it’s as good as over. _

Stiles dodges, movements and drills informing his muscle memory and keeping him out of harm’s way. His hand is closed in a fist over a small bottle of what he likes to think of as ‘supernatural mace’. 

When Ari moves again, Stiles crouches and spins, moving his thumb and throwing the mixed dust in an arc around his body. He extends his arm a little, allowing himself some space while pushing invisible assailants away.

“Good. Your defense is much better,” Ari notes, drawing herself up to a standing position.

Stiles relaxes, breathing deeply as his heart steadies a bit. He’s getting used to keeping a regular heartbeat instead of the mess adrenaline usually made him. He isn’t quite sure what he thinks about that yet.

“Look, it’s been a month and we train physically almost every day. When are you going to start explaining this...possession thing?”

“Stiles, I can’t explain  _ anything _ . It’s not as easy as that. I can really only guess- everything I know has been picked up in bits and pieces from different people and books.”

“You said you knew something,” Stiles replies, tasting the bitterness on his tongue.

He had expected her information wouldn’t be perfect. He’d just hoped for more.

Ari pauses, watching him for a moment. Since they’d started training, she had dyed her hair. Stiles had assumed the dark brown was her natural color; she’d left the ends a light rose color that brightened in the sunlight.

“What are you feeling?”

It was a dumb question but he felt himself respond before he could stop.

“Annoyed. I mean, you didn’t  _ lie _ ...it’s just...not the best,” he finishes lamely, trying to save his explanation.

He isn’t angry. He’s just...disappointed.

“What you’re feeling is you, Stiles. Your emotions, your beliefs-  _ you _ . What did you feel when Donovan attacked you?”

The bitter taste rises to the back of his throat again and he clenches his teeth, feeling a stab of something primal and harsh in his chest. 

“I felt...furious. It wasn’t just anger. It was something more- it was like I knew he deserved something and I wanted to give it to him,” he finishes dejectedly, rubbing his face with his hands.

“You say  _ fury _ ,” Ari replies, the word drawn out as if she’s saying it for the first time. “Do you know what that means?”

“...what?” 

Ari smiles at his incredulous tone.

“Fury. It’s defined as ‘wild or violent anger’.”

“So you’re saying I’m-,” Stiles begins, but he can’t bring himself to finish his sentence. The fear has settled in the pit of his stomach like a ball of lead.

“Is Parrish a monster?”

“No,” Stiles replies automatically.

“Then you’re not,” Ari says kindly. “You’re just different breeds of the same thing. You’ve read Greek mythology. What is a Fury?”

“One of three goddesses that tortured and cursed people,” Stiles bites out, still trying to understand. “How does this prove I’m  _ not _ evil?”

“Stiles,” Ari says disapprovingly, “You know better. _Think_. The furies were spirits of _punishment_. They tortured the guilty with conscience and cursed criminals. They didn’t eat babies for breakfast.”

Stiles laughs because it’s absurd, everything is, and he has no idea where Ari is going.

“So I only punish bad people? I’m not- I can’t have that kind of responsibility-,”

“You don’t,” Ari cuts him off, tossing him a water bottle. “But something  _ does _ , and it’s working through you.”

“We’re back at possession,” Stiles warns her tiredly. 

He can’t imagine what’s going on. He understands fury, understands righteousness and judgement. But he also knows he has no right or power to mete out punishment the way Ari is suggesting he can.

“What are Sheriffs?” Ari asks, and the question sounds so genuine that Stiles responds automatically.

“They’re protectors. They keep the town safe. They respond to emergencies and patrol the town, sometimes take care of wildlife issues when necessary.”

“What gives them that power?”

“The law,” Stiles says simply, vaguely confused.

“You realize that’s a simple answer,” Ari replies, amused.

“I’m a simple guy,” Stiles says dryly.

“No. You’re really not,” Ari murmurs, the smile on her face fading.

They sit in silence for a moment and Stiles sighs, sitting on the floor so he can stretch his back.

“So you think I have some power that does what the law does for Sheriffs?”

“See? Not simple at all,” Ari smiles.

 

* * *

Channeling is the first thing Ari decides to teach him. She shows him the ring on her finger, its colorless crystal glinting in the sunlight filtering through his kitchen window.

“The power you’re using right now is only frightening because you can’t channel it. Without some type of buffer it works more like a possession, using your body as a conduit. That’s why you feel as if you aren’t yourself.”

“So I need something like your crystal to help channel...whatever  _ it  _ is?”

Ari smiles, pulling a box out of her backpack. 

“Yes. I use crystals because they’re good for storing energy. You can also charge them, which just means you’re putting some of yourself into your tool.”

“How will it work?” Stiles asks, watching as she opens the box. 

There are chains, different metals and colors glinting brightly. He can also see dozens of different stones, clear quartz and turquoise familiar to his eyes. There are others, too, bright and dark, opaque and transparent.

“You’ll find the metal and stone that feel right. Once you pick one, we can adjust the cut of the stone and the setting.”

Stiles looks through the box, fingers pausing over a golden-yellow stone. He keeps rifling, admiring the swirls in opals, but for some reason his eye keeps returning the the first stone.

“It feels right, doesn’t it?” Ari asks quietly. Stiles nods slowly. “All right. What metal, then?”

It’s hard to tell the difference between them, Stiles notices. There are so many silver-colored chains he can barely guess what’s what.

As he looks, he comes across a dark gray metal that somehow reminds him of the Hale house. The sink, he thinks, was almost the same color metal. It makes him smile and he picks up the chain, feeling the cold metal between his fingers.

“Interesting,” Ari smiles. “Okay. What do you think will work for you? Ring, necklace, bracelet, earring-?”

“Necklace,” Stiles says automatically, not even sure why he chose it. “It…,”

“Seems right?” Ari finishes for him, smiling knowingly. “We all know what we want. Knowing why is the hard part.”

As Ari works on the necklace Stiles sits back in his chair, trying to read a book on plants and werewolves. He fails miserably and sighs, closing the dusty tome.

“What did I choose?” 

Ari smiles, removing a pair of pliers from her mouth where she’d been holding them.

“Citrine. ‘Stone of the mind’ according to alchemy. It’s also known as the ‘success stone’. It can be used to cleanse negative energy but it doesn’t trap it, meaning you don’t have to worry about clearing. Clarity, confidence, and magnification are also some of its properties. It’s known as a healing stone.”

“Huh,” Stiles murmurs, looking down at the stone on the table. “So it can do all that?”

“It  _ can _ . The idea, though, is that  _ you _ are the one with the power. The Citrine is just a tool for focus.”

“So it’s like a magnifying glass.”

“It’s like a filter,” Ari smiles and the clink of metal against metal echoes in the room. “Putting a blue filter over a lightbulb changes the color of the light, right?”

“So if I were to use a different stone I would have different capabilities.”

“You would. The thing is, we’re all individual light bulbs. We each have different tendencies- you may tend towards mental and emotional healing while someone else focuses on physical healing. What you feel determines what you use.”

“‘The wand chooses the wizard’, hm?” Stiles mutters.

Ari laughs and the metal clinks again as she finishes closing the chain.

“No clasp,” Stiles notices.

“No. Clasps can work like mild interruptions in the chain of energy. Nothing major, really, but for someone with your power it’s important to make sure everything goes as smoothly as possible.”

Stiles nods and Ari picks the necklace up from the table, holding it so that the stone catches the light. The citrine is a long hexagon, light yellow spots shining from the gold of the crystal. He smiles when she hands it to him and feels it in his hands, somehow  _ right _ .

“What about the metal?”

“Pewter. It’s a combination of tin, copper, and antimony. You have wisdom, affection, and transformation included in each of those. The chain is plated with silver, which is connected to vision. Makes sense, considering your stone. You’re very altruistic.”

“Makes sense,” Stiles repeats sarcastically, but he’s grinning when he slips it over his neck. It rests against his chest, feeling oddly light, and he decides that it’s meant for him.

It feels as if it’s always been there.

 

* * *

Only a few hours after putting on the necklace Stiles feels a huge sense of relief. It takes him a while to recognize it but when he does he realizes the weight he’d been carrying from the constant fear of the power calling to him. The stone feels almost like a shield.

When he goes to the store for food, the Citrine bounces against his shirt and he has never felt so calm in his life.

“Stiles,” Melissa says, surprised, and the voice shatters Stiles’ reverie.

“Oh,” is all that comes out when he opens his mouth. Melissa, standing before him, looks shocked.

“Are you-,” she begins, but she doesn’t seem to know how to finish so Stiles laughs, strained.

“Living. So far.”

Melissa looks sorry but she also looks concerned, as if she’s not sure whether or not to ask. Stiles wonders how much Scott told her.

“I haven’t seen you in so long. Did Scott-,”

“Scott doesn’t want to see me,” Stiles blurts and the words are acid on his tongue. He knows he sounds like a child but he can’t think of how else to explain to Melissa what’s happening.

“What are you talking about? You two are best friends,” Melissa says and it’s in her no-nonsense voice. 

Sometimes Stiles wonders whether or not Melissa’s ‘in charge’ voice is part of what makes her such a great nurse.

“We...I don’t know. It’s not...it’s not easy. I know what he thinks and I can’t help it. All I know is that if he wants to talk, he’ll talk to me.”

“Really. And what about you? You can’t talk to him?”

She’s challenging him. Stiles understands, knows what he sounds like but he can’t explain without saying  _ Scott doesn’t give killers second chances _ . 

“I  _ tried _ ,” Stiles replies instead, willing his voice not to break. “But I can’t do everything on my own. Not this time.”

He’s quiet, ready for her to rebuke him again. Instead, she watches him and he wonders what it is she’s seeing.

“I obviously don’t know the whole story.  _ Why  _ that is, I don’t know- and I  _ don’t  _ like it. But right now, whatever the problem is it’s between you and Scott. And I  _ know _ sometimes it can be difficult, being human. But that’s what we are, Stiles, and we can’t help that. We  _ can  _ help remind Scott- and all the other werewolves running around, too- that human isn’t  _ bad.  _ And sometimes, they  _ need _ a human.”

“Yeah,” Stiles says, feeling his eyes sting. 

Melissa’s right. She’s right when she says that he’s human. And maybe Scott  _ has  _ forgotten that, despite the fact that he’s always remained stubbornly heroic. Maybe all of the others- Liam, with his strength and Kira, with her powers- have forgotten a little, too. 

Maybe even Stiles forgot, because he’s been so long in the company of the supernatural he’s begun to think he should be capable of more than is actually possible.

Maybe.

 

* * *

“It’s up to you,” Ari says when Stiles proposes talking to Scott. “It’s been a month.”

Stiles realizes with a start that she’s right. It  _ has  _ been a month. He’s not exactly certain how he forgot that or why he didn’t think that maybe time will have changed the situation. Either way he’s glad he talked to Ari.

“So when do I learn how to use this?” he asks, holding up the Citrine in his hand.

“When it happens again. Maybe next time we’ll get a better idea of how it works. For now, you have to wait until you can channel it again.”

“How will I know how to channel it if I never practice?” Stiles raises his eyebrow at the paradox.

“You’ll know.”

 

* * *

 

Stiles’ thumb hovers over the phone icon on his screen. He waits, watching, as if expecting it to ring. As if Scott will call first.

It’s never really been that way, though. He remembers the pool, how Scott was too busy with Allison to pay attention to his friend’s requests. Now, Stiles feels a stab of hopelessness and pain at the thought that maybe he will always be the one that calls. 

It would be fine, if Scott were the one that answered.

His thumb falls and he gives in, listening to the ring on the other end.

“Hello?”

Stiles has to fight the gasp as he inhales sharply, heart immediately picking up in speed. Whatever he had expected, it was not this. Not an answer. Not so quickly.

“Scott,” he says, and he isn’t sure what he feels. 

Hope, maybe? Fear?

“It’s been a while.”

It’s relieving when he recognizes uncertainty and conflict in Scott’s voice. He knows he isn’t the only one feeling a bit unprepared.

“I think we need to talk.”

The other end of the line is silent. Stiles can almost hear the struggle Scott is going through, uncertainty and friendship threatening to overturn his fear and hurt.

“All right.”

 

* * *

Stiles knows that Scott’s been taking care of the clinic in Deaton’s absence. It still makes him uneasy, though, meeting at the vet’s with Deaton missing.

He walks in on uneasy feet and the citrine on his chest hums.  _ I guess it can pick up magic, _ Stiles thinks to himself.

Scott is standing in the same room they’ve used since they met Deaton. The silver table shines under artificial lighting and Stiles enters, hands in his pockets. If he can make Scott feel more at ease, he has a better chance of convincing him.

“Hey,” Scott says quietly and Stiles can tell he’s conflicted. He looks like he  _ wants _ to be happy at seeing his friend but he  _ doesn’t  _ want to dismiss what’s happened.

“Hey,” Stiles responds, appropriately somber. 

Part of Stiles wants to sit Scott down and make him listen. The other part knows it would never work.

“You wanted to talk,” Scott says and Stiles can already tell he’ll have to start the conversation.

Scott is great, Stiles thinks. The problem with him has always been that he’s quick to give people second chances. For some reason, though, Scott seems to have drawn a line with Stiles. Maybe it’s because he thinks his best friend is a killer- but then, Scott thinks, Ethan and Aiden were once on their way to becoming Pack. And so was Peter.

“Yeah. We need to talk,” Stiles says and he walks forward to place his hands against the metal table. “We need to talk about what you  _ think _ I did.”

“What I  _ think _ ?” Scott replies and Stiles can tell he’s searching for something. A reason, maybe. A reason to give Stiles a second chance.

“I think you already know that Theo lied. He lied about a lot of things.”

“Yeah, but you-,”

“ _ I  _ believed him,” Stiles interrupts, eyes narrowing at his friend. “I believed him because I was alone. I was fighting for my  _ life _ , Scott- you  _ do  _ remember I’m human, right?”

Scott falls silent for a moment and he looks as if he wants nothing more than to say yes and move on. He doesn’t.

“Stiles, being human doesn’t give you the right to kill people who are...different.”

“And I  _ didn’t _ . Scott, I tried to climb up scaffolding to get away from Donovan. There were metal braces on the edge and I- I made a  _ choice.  _ I made the choice to pull the pin, let them knock him off. They fell on him. I didn’t kill him. It may have been my fault but  _ I was running away. _ ”

Scott is quiet. Stiles can tell that he’s still not sure what to believe.   
“You...didn’t kill him,” Scott says.

Stiles feels the words drop like stones and he thinks he should be hurt at the realization in Scott’s voice but he’s too relieved to care. Scott looks at Stiles as if he’s fond and sorry and maybe even exasperated.

“I tried to tell you,” Stiles starts, but he stops because it sounds accusatory.

“If we had just waited...if we’d just talked another minute,” Scott tries, and he still looks shell-shocked. As if he had never expected this.

“I tried.”

“I know the difference between murder and self-defense,” Scott says firmly, looking Stiles in the eye.

“I know. But you didn’t really wait to find out,” Stiles reminds him, still hurt. He’s beyond relieved that Scott has accepted the truth. He’s still not happy that any of this happened in the  first place.

“He died,” Scott says.

It’s the truth.

“He did. But so did Erica. So did Boyd. Allison,” Stiles adds, feeling the lump in his throat grow with each name.

Scott looks hurt, angry. 

“Are you-,”

“I’m not accusing you. Or Derek. Or anyone else. What I’m saying is that  _ this world _ \- this world we got into, it’s not the same as the one we’re part of when we go to school. People  _ die _ \- people are  _ going to _ die and we can’t always stop it because the rules in this world aren’t the same. You explain to me how you can justify the bite at all when you know it doesn’t always work the way it’s supposed to.”

They’re silent and Stiles watches his friend, knowing the struggle he’s going through because Scott is a hero. He’s a hero down to his bones and he always will be. Scott sees the best in people and he’s never willing to compromise, never willing to accept the black and white truth while he still has the power to find the gray side.

“I know you don’t want it to be true, but it  _ is _ ,” Stiles says quietly, desperately. “We won’t always be able to protect everyone. Especially when they don’t want to be protected.”

“We just have to try harder. Even if they fight it,” Scott says firmly, and it’s not a rebuke but Stiles knows he’s serious. 

And even if Scott doesn’t seem to acknowledge it, Stiles knows they’re one step closer to something like what they used to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while. I blame my college's WiFi issues.   
> Anyways, I've had this on my computer for a little while. I actually contemplated ending this series since it definitely hasn't garnered as much attention as my others. For my own purposes, though, I'll finish it. I hate leaving things undone. As usual, don't be shy with your comments. I like to know if I'm creating a believable story. And for those of you who are waiting for our Sourwolf to make an appearance...you won't be waiting much longer.


	7. Motion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With his new crystal, Stiles hopes to channel whatever power has been using him. Meanwhile, Lydia gives him a warning and the chimeras advance.

Stiles feels uneasy as he drives to the bank. It’s not because it’s night- he’s used to being in the dark, used to the struggle to see.

No, it’s something else.

He drives, telling himself it’s his imagination, that there’s nothing there. But if he’s being honest, he knows his gut instinct is usually right.

Someone appears on the road before him and he feels his heart thump in his chest painfully, hard and strong. He steps on the break and the car skids to a halt.

It’s Hayden.

He hasn’t seen her since the fiasco with Theo. She looks very much alive and very much displeased. Her long hair falls over her shoulder, close to her eye, ready to hide half of her expression. Stiles feels his heart beat painfully again.

“No, no,” Stiles whispers, trying to stop the feeling, but his hand is reaching for the car door without his permission.

_I don’t want to hurt her._

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Hayden says but there’s thinly veiled hostility in her voice.

She looks unstable. It reminds Stiles of Liam in the back of the van, the way he’d struggled to control himself. _Everyone has their own ways,_ he thinks, _and Theo’s either don’t exist or they’re more harmful than helpful._

“Why are you here?”

Hayden pauses, confusion flickering across her face for a fraction of a second.

“You’re part of Scott’s pack,” Hayden starts and Stiles shakes his head.

“Have you ever met me? Do you really know me?”

Even Stiles doesn’t know where this conversation is going but the warmth of the crystal around his neck tells him it’s right.

“It doesn’t matter. You’re Stiles and you’re Scott’s friend- or you were,” Hayden adds, a glint in her eye as if she thinks she’s found the mark, a weak spot.

“You don’t know me,” Stiles repeats softly. “You don’t know that my mother died when I was young- but not too young to remember. That my father is a sheriff and some nights he won’t even sleep, too tired from trying to explain what happens in Beacon Hills. That sometimes he drinks too much because he thinks that things would be better if mom was here, even though it wouldn’t change anything, even though he would still have no answers, would still be constantly worrying about his job. You wouldn’t know how many years I tried to keep him out of _this_ , out of the world I was sucked into. How I sacrificed so much of our relationship to keep him safe.”

Stiles pauses, feeling his throat constrict. _Why am I telling her this? Why her?_ He doesn’t want to tell Hayden, barely knows her, wouldn’t even tell anyone else.

 _But it will work,_ something tells him, and he decides to trust it.

Hayden looks haunted.

“Your sister works at the station. She’s new,” Stiles says and he remembers the young woman. “She probably didn’t tell you that I went to greet her on her first day.”

“You did?” Hayden asks quietly, and something in her voice sounds hopeful. She takes a step forward, subconsciously.

“I did. I do for any new deputies, anyone else. They’re like my family. My father’s worked there since before I was born. On her first day, I took her cookies. She told me she didn’t like nuts. I told her they were chocolate chip,” Stiles remembers, laughing.

“She won’t even eat peanut butter,” Hayden says, smiling. The smile seems to bring color back into her face, the exhaustion and anger and fear bleeding away.

“You deserve to be happy,” Stiles starts, and even though she recoils he continues, sure. “Theo isn’t happy, but you can be. Scott was happy. I told my father about everything and it helped him understand- even though he knows he can’t do much, he knows at least what I’m doing and how to keep people safe.”

“I shouldn’t even be alive,” Hayden argues, shaking her head, but Stiles takes a slow step forward.

“Neither should Scott. He died, you know, when Liam attacked him in the library.”

Hayden’s eyes widen and Stiles smiles, reaching for his crystal. It’s warm.

“You know, a while back, Scott and a friend and I died. We slowed our hearts, submerged ourselves in ice water. We were trying to save our parents. Save everyone. It took something from us- a small part, something that was never the same. But we had each other.”

“Theo knows,” Hayden starts slowly, backing away, but Stiles stops her.

“Yes. He does. But he didn’t come out better for it. You know that. And the thing is, you don’t _have_ to be damaged. Just because Theo is doesn’t mean you have to be. Both Scott and I went through what you did and we dealt with it. We may not be exactly the same, but we’ve grown. We’ve moved forward. Theo’s stuck in the past. Think about it. What is he going to do if he ever achieves his goal?”

Hayden is quiet and Stiles can see her thinking. He knows it may be too much, telling her everything at once, but he knows what’s at stake. If he can help save Hayden from Theo, he’ll do all he can.

“I don’t know,” Hayden says quietly. “But he’s dangerous, and I can’t just leave. I’ll let you go for now, but I may not be the last one to come for you.”

“Think about it,” Stiles says quietly, and as she walks away he sees her nod.

 

* * *

 

“Did it feel the same, or different?”

“Same. I felt something…strange, and I somehow knew what I should say. The stone was warm,” Stiles adds, playing with the citrine.

“So you didn’t feel the need to attack,” Ari explains, “But instead you talked to her.”

“I think- maybe- whatever this is, it’s not necessarily violent.”

“ _What_???” Ari gasps, spinning around, hands comically pressed to her cheeks. “It’s _not violent_?!”

“O _kay_ ,” Stiles grumbles, but he can feel a smile tugging at the corners of his cheeks.

“Are you sure you’re not a were-bull? You know, with a thick skull?” Ari snorts, hopping up on the kitchen counter.

Stiles is making dinner. His father is supposed to be released and he’s coming home for the night, back to work the next day. Stiles isn’t sure how he’s going to explain Ari. She could maybe pass as a high school student, but really she seems closer in age to Derek.

 _Derek,_ Stiles thinks to himself. _I wonder what he’s doing now._

“Thinking too much about it won’t help,” Ari says, and Stiles realizes she’s taken the spoon from him to stir the rice in the pan.

“It’s stir fry,” Stiles replies lightly. “Easy to mess up.”

He can feel Ari watching him. He tries not to meet her eyes and notices the black edge of something on her wrist, hidden under a leather bracelet.

“Hey, what’s-,”

His phone rings loudly and he almost jumps. Ari hops down from the counter, retrieving it from the table.

“Lydia,” she says quietly.

“Hello?” Stiles asks, tense, as he answers.

“ _Stiles. You’re safe?_ ” She asks, already sounding relieved.

“Yeah. Yeah, you?” Stiles exhales. Ari moves to the stovetop, waving Stiles away as she takes over.

“ _We’re fine. Learning a lot, actually. Listen- Chris told us something might be happening._ ”

“What do you mean? With Theo?”

“ _Maybe. He said some Hunters are on their way to Beacon Hills- and they have a Mediator with them._ ”

“Mediator?” Stiles murmurs. He can see Ari’s head turn slightly.

“ _Listen- Chris thinks they’re after Theo but he isn’t sure. They’re taking a Mediator, so they’ll be strictly following a Code, but you have to be careful. Cooperating with them is going to be best if you want to be able to act._ ”

“Okay. Thanks,” Stiles says and when he hangs up he watches Ari for a minute, thinking.

 _Mediator_.

The sound of a key in the door echoes in the house.

“Oh- oh no. I’m not ready,” Stiles blurts, jerking into a step. He has no idea what he needs to do.

“Calm down. It’s me, not your future marriage partner,” Ari says flatly, shoving a serving bowl into his hands. “Hold this. I need to move everything over.”

Before he can say anything, the door opens and Stiles turns slightly, sheepishly holding the bowl in his hands.

“Hey, dad.”

John enters slowly, eyes darting between Stiles and Ari.

“Son. This-,”

“-is Ari,” Stiles finishes, trying to keep his tone cheery.

“Right. And Ari is here because-,”

“I'm broke,” Ari pipes up, scooping the last bits of rice into the bowl. “No worries, it's a temporary situation.”

John is silent for a moment.

“Right.”

 

* * *

 

It’s late at night when Stiles hears something hit his window. He tenses in his computer chair, fingers reaching for a bag of wolfsbane.

_tink_

When he rises, something flies towards the window. It’s a small stone. The clink on glass is quiet.

“Liam?” Stiles whispers, looking down.

The werewolf nods, shoulders tense. Stiles holds a finger up, backing away from the window to go downstairs.

When he opens the door, Liam fidgets. Stiles feels a pang as he looks at the boy, remembering what Scott was like when he was first turned.

“Come in,” Stiles says quietly, locking the door behind Liam. He leads the way to the kitchen, pulling hot chocolate and milk onto the counter. “What is it?”

“Hayden talked to you earlier today.”

“Yes. She was sent to take me to Theo, I think.”

Liam looks away, biting his lip. He doesn’t want to agree, Stiles thinks. _Scott and Allison. Sometimes I wonder, if history repeats itself, why can we never see the chances to change things?_

“Look. I don’t like her being around Theo any more than you do. She said you mentioned something- you said something that changed her mind. Are you willing to help her? Can you?”

“Yes,” Stiles says immediately, pouring the hot chocolate into mugs. He offers one to Liam.

He hesitates, but takes it.

“So what are you going to do? She isn’t safe here.”

“Maybe not now,” Stiles starts, remembering Lydia’s call. “But there are other things we need to talk about, too. Can you meet Scott and I tomorrow?”

“Scott?” Liam asks quietly, grip tightening on the mug. “I-,”

“You’re going to break my mug,” Stiles smiles understandingly. “And my dad’s asleep.”

“Sorry,” Liam replies automatically, sheepish as he looks into the cup. “But I…Scott-,”

“Will be glad to know you’re safe. You’re overestimating his ability to hold a grudge,” Stiles snorts. “He’s a puppy. Honestly, I’ll be shocked if he’s angry. He’s probably more concerned about you two right now.”

“He shouldn’t be,” Liam mumbles, taking a sip.

Stiles feels a grin tugging at his mouth.

“He shouldn’t do a lot of things. That’s why I’m around.”

 

* * *

 

“So what can we do? I know you promised to help,” Scott starts and Stiles waves him away.

“That’s secondary. First, I need to tell everyone something else. Then we can figure out how- or if- we need to hide Hayden.”

Stiles hadn’t been keen on meeting in the woods, but he was outnumbered by the three other supernatural creatures. He pulls onto a trail, watching the side windows for movement. Being in the forest feels wrong to him somehow. Wrong without Derek.

_Stop thinking about him._

When they get to the clearing, Liam and Hayden are waiting.

“Scott-,” Liam starts, looking desperate, but he’s immediately cut off.

“Are you okay?”

There’s silence and Stiles snorts, covering his mouth with his hand and waving the attention away when Scott looks at him.

“Yeah- I…I’m fine,” Liam says, swallowing. Stiles shakes his head.

“All right, we shouldn’t hang around so I’ll get to the point,” Stiles sighs. “I got a call from Lydia yesterday. She said Chris told her there were Hunters headed our way with a Mediator. She advised cooperation and they’re supposed to be operating within a Code, so we _should_ be safe since we haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Hunters?” Liam asks and Stiles looks to Scott.

“They’re humans that train to hunt werewolves and other things,” Scott explains. “Most have agreements with Packs so they keep the peace- some, though, aren’t very kind. It’s best to be safe around them.”

“How do you know the ones that are coming are on our side?” Hayden asks.

“Well, if Chris- he’s a hunter from here- says they should be, I trust him. It’s the Mediator I’m not sure about. I looked them up- according to Deaton’s information, they operate as absolute unaffiliated entities. Their purpose is to determine fault and punishment- they’re basically judges. They make it hard to operate, though, because their ideas of justice and law differ.”

“All right. So the question is, do we move Hayden now or wait and see if the Hunters can offer protection,” Scott explains. “I can take Hayden to Kira- she’s

“We-,” Liam starts, but he’s cut off when something moves in the distance.

A branch snaps.

“They’re here,” Hayden says suddenly, eyes wide. “I can’t-,”

“Go,” Stiles bites out. “We’ll contact you. _Go_.”

Hayden leaves and Stiles feels a pull, citrine warm on his chest.

“We should go,” Stiles says, looking back at the car. “We can outrun them.”

“No,” Liam growls, staring into the trees. “We can’t-,”

“ _We should go,_ ” Stiles hisses and the stirring feeling in him prompts him to act.

He doesn’t want to hurt anyone, though, so he refuses, the crystal hotter as it sucks up the raw intent.

It’s too late and when the chimeras approach, Stiles feels the intent urging him to act.

“Move back,” he growls, and Scott and Liam turn to look at him.

“What-,” Scott begins, but Stiles can’t contain the power any longer.

“Move _back_!”

Scott and Liam immediately backpedal and Stiles lifts his hands, noticing the orange-gold glow from his citrine.

 _I don’t want to hurt them,_ he thinks, and when he pushes his hands forward a shockwave ripples through the ground, throwing the chimeras off their feet before they collapse onto the ground.

Stiles breathes heavily, the burning crystal sapped of heat, and he tries not to sink to his knees.

“What was _that?_ ” Liam asks shakily, and Scott is looking at Stiles’ necklace as if he thinks it might kill him.

“They’re knocked out. Let’s _go._ ”

 

* * *

 

 

He’s driving home when his phone rings. He’s almost too absorbed in Scott’s parting words that he nearly misses it.

“Hello?”

“ _They’re here. Don’t come home,_ ” Ari says, and then the call ends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel terrible for not updating sooner! I didn't have computer access for over 6 weeks so I've been transcribing my handwritten chapters. More to come very soon! Thanks to all who have kept up; your comments and readership mean the world to me!


	8. Communication

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles meets with the newcomers, hoping to find Ari and forge an alliance. Things don't go quite as he hoped and another meeting with Hayden and Liam leaves him wondering how to continue. With fewer friends to count on, finding Theo and figuring out his new powers becomes increasingly difficult.

Stiles grips his steering wheel. He stares up at his dark house, chewing his lip as he deliberates.

_I’m not waiting_ , he thinks to himself, and he walk up to the front door.

No one’s home.

“Come on, Ari. What did you leave me?” He knows she wouldn’t have disappeared without some kind of clue. He knows she’s been without a home for too long to not have picked up on a few things.

He finds the clue in the kitchen. A penny, lying right in the middle of the table. It seems innocuous but it’s right in the middle, face down.

_The bank._

 

* * *

 

When he arrives he doesn’t see any cars. Smart, he knows, because they probably want to stay hidden. He wonders how many of them there are.

When he enters the bank he almost sighs in relief. He may be human, but four people are still a wonderfully low number.

Three of the people are hunters, knives and guns strapped to their limbs over otherwise average clothing. The fourth person is what Stiles assumes is a Mediator. He gets almost the same vibe as he does from Deaton, but the person seems…older, in a way. Ancient.

The Mediator moves into the shadows.

“Can we help you?”

It’s the youngest hunter, a twenty-something year old man. He has a British accent.

“I’m looking for my friend. I think you may know where she is.”

The other two hunters step forward. One is a woman, maybe in her thirties, with curly hair and a bindi dotted onto her forehead. The other is a man, the same relative age, with green eyes and sandy blonde hair.

“We cannot allow you to leave with her,” the woman says.

“I think this may be a misunderstanding,” Stiles begins, holding his hands up as he walks further into the room.

“Why is that?” the Mediator asks, emerging from the shadows again.

She is an older woman, grey hair pulled tightly into a braid. Her eyes are what disquiet him. They are dark, almost black, and she seems to see _through_ everything.

“Ari didn’t do anything.”

“We’ve heard that before,” the man says, green eyes rolling as he turns away.

“She _didn’t_ ,” Stiles repeats firmly. “You’re looking for Theo.”

The Hunters are silent, and then the Mediator speaks.

“Do you know what your friend did? Before she came here? That is what we have come for.”

“And _she didn’t do it,_ ” Stiles says. “It was Theo. Although I don’t expect you to know that.”

The female Hunter steps forward, gaze sharp, but the younger man stops her with a raised hand.

“What do you mean?” he asks, arms crossed.

“Theo used to live here. He killed his sister. He may have hurt his parents. _He_ killed Ari’s family and he’s the one creating chimeras. You should be looking for _him_. _We_ certainly can’t find him by ourselves,” Stiles adds.

“Without evidence, we cannot release your friend,” the Mediator says, but her tone seems to say she thinks Stiles already knows.

“Maybe not. But there’s plenty of evidence to justify detaining Theo. Once you have him, you can release Ari. All I’m asking is that we work together.”

“It couldn’t hurt,” the young Hunter says, rolling his shoulders. “It seemed too easy to get her to come along. Honestly, I don’t think she did it.”

“We know what you think,” the older Hunter mutters.

“I knew of this child,” the Mediator begins, and just as the Hunters turn to look at her something bangs against the front door.

“You bring friends?” the female Hunter asks, drawing a bow as she takes position by a pillar.

“No. I think you’re about to get some evidence,” Stiles replies, backing away to face the door.

The familiar flood of energy begins to heat his crystal- and then the door slams open.

Stiles’ blood runs cold.

The beast- whatever it is- reminds him of Peter as a wolf. It’s huge, some swirling black miasma surrounding its body. _It isn’t right_ , Stiles thinks to himself, unease making him hesitant. He doesn’t feel like he has to kill it- he doesn’t even feel like fighting it. For some reason, it makes him sad.

Before he can think, the beast attacks. Gunshots echo in the bank and he can see arrows flying past its body as it throws the hunters against walls.

There is a moment, a gap, and then it lunges for Stiles.

Its hand swipes down and Stiles crouches, arms shielding his body.

“ _Stop!_ ” Stiles yells, and the energy he channels works like a barrier, the feeling static against his arms. It’s like a shield and the beast tries to hit him, blows deflected. The impact is bruising.

“Move, kid!” the female Hunter yells and she’s suddenly bounding out of nowhere, an arrow flying at the beast.

Stiles feels his energy flag, the exertion of shielding himself taking a toll. For some reason, the power within him is telling him something’s wrong. _This thing needs help._

The beast suddenly stops, upright, head tilted as if it’s listening to something. It leaves just as quickly as it appeared.

“What was that?” the young Hunter asks, out of breath as he picks himself up off the floor. The arm of his shirt is torn open.

“I have no idea,” Stiles says.

 

* * *

 

“We don’t have to worry about them,” Stiles begins tiredly, lying on his couch. Scott paces before him.

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. They can’t release Ari- wherever they have her- but they’re willing to help capture Theo.”

“So we work together. What about Hayden?”

“I think she wants to leave,” Liam says and Stiles can tell he’s torn about the situation.

“That’s probably best. She’ll be safe _and_ she’ll have instruction,” Stiles says gently.

“We’re going to need more help than three Hunters,” Scott starts, pondering. “I’ll go to Kira and see if she can help. If you want, I’ll take Hayden and leave her until this is over. She’ll be safe.”

“I can go,” Liam offers but Stiles can hear the desperation in his voice.

“Liam,” Stiles starts quietly. “I know you don’t want to leave her, but this is important. She’ll be safe- and we need you _here_. I’m only human, remember?”

Liam is quiet for a minute and Scott glances at Stiles.

“He’s right,” Scott says.

“Okay,” Liam says. “You take Hayden. In the meantime, what are _we_ going to do?”

“We’re going to do some digging,” Stiles says, shaking his head. “I have a feeling the thing that attacked the Hunters has something to do with Theo.”

 

* * *

 

Liam is quiet, Stiles notices. He hasn’t known him for long, but Stiles thinks that Liam is not usually so passive. It bothers him. The drive to the bank is relatively silent and Stiles thinks he may have to chip away at Liam, figure out what it is that’s bothering him.

He thinks it may have to do with Scott, though.

“I need to talk to Ari,” Stiles announces as he enters the bank.

“You’re _back_?” the older man says, amused. “And with a friend.”

“This is Liam,” Stiles explains. “Don’t make him mad. You won’t like him when he’s mad.”

Liam looks at Stiles with a mixture of incredulousness, anger, and amusement that rivals Derek’s miasmic expressions.

_Stop._

“Nice to meet you,” the female Hunter says, stepping closer. “Although we still don’t know _your_ name, persistent one.”

“Stiles. So, about Ari,” Stiles reminds them,

“Yeah. We heard you,” the young Hunter says from behind Liam.

“ _Je_ sus, what are you, invisible?” Stiles jokes.

“I’m black. Same difference,” he winks.

“Christian, please,” the female Hunter says. “Stiles, Ari is at Eichen.”

The smile falls off Stiles’ face and he can feel his heart beat in his chest. A dull ring echoes in his ears. Liam moves closer, glaring at the woman. Stiles can vaguely feel Liam’s hand on his arm but he can’t even respond.

“You put her _where_ ,” Stiles manages, the ghost of a needle brushing against the crook of his elbow.

“It’s registered to hold supernatural creatures,” Christian says, unsettled. “Isn’t it, Kala?”

“Yes. I took her there myself with Arin.”

“That place…is not fit for human life,” Stiles whispers, shaking his head.

He doesn’t wait for them to talk, turning on his heel and running to his car.

“Are we getting her out?” Liam asks as they drive.

“I don’t know what’s left of her to save,” Stiles bites out, gripping the wheel tighter.

“I heard about Eichen, but I’ve never been. That’s where they held you, isn’t it?” Liam asks quietly.

“Yes. And Malia and Lydia. It’s the cellar to Eichen, really, that holds the supernatural. They use heavy medications and the nurses are unpleasant. Aboveground, it probably isn’t the worst; below, though- it’s where they held Peter after we found out he was behind the deadpool.”

When they arrive, Stiles shivers. The institution is still dark and looming, metal gates stark against the darkening sky.

“Listen. They’re going to take whatever you have on you when we get in. Whatever happens, if we have to leave, I want you to get out. Don’t worry about who you hurt or what you do; just _get out_.”

“What about you?” Liam asks, eyes wide. “You were in once; I don’t want to _leave_ you in there.”

“Like you said. I’ve been in her before,” Stiles mutters, stepping out of the car. “Keys are in the tire. Remember- _run_.”

The nurse at the front desk is unpleasant as usual.

“Nice to see you again,” he smirks, holding his hand out for Stiles’ belt.

“Can’t say I feel the same,” Stiles replies, the jab almost as strong as his desire to leave. _I can’t leave. I need to see Ari. I need to know if she’s okay._

“You’ll have an hour. Past that time, someone will find you,” the nurse grins.

Stiles ignores the man, walking to the door. As he descends, he can feel Liam inching closer. The hallway is dark, shatterproof glass dirty and filmed over in some cells. Noises and voices murmur lowly, the ambient noise unsettling.

“227,” Liam points out and Stiles crosses the hallway, walking up to the room, heart pounding.

Ari is lying on the bed, hair fanned out on her pillow. Her feet are dirty and bare, stiff linen gown pulled over her knees.

“Ari,” Stiles calls. “Ari, wake up. Come on. It’s Stiles, wake up.”

Stiles can feel her pain as he watches her rise, somewhat unsteady. He’s sure she’s been drugged as she walks forward, unbalanced.

“Fancy meeting you here.”

“Are you okay? I know- I’ve been in here, I _know_ -,”

“How bad lunch is? Good. Remember that for when I get out- I think I’ll have Chinese.”

Stiles laughs, shakes his head. He should have known her humor would hold out, but he isn’t sure how long it will last.

“We talked to the Hunters. They’re willing to help catch Theo. We need to figure something out, though- yesterday we were attacked by some kind of beast- it looked like a wolf, werewolf- but it was surrounded by some sort of black smoke or something.”

“ _La Bête,” Ari murmurs. Her eyes are unfocused. “La Bête.”_

_“What is that? Ari? The Beast?”_

_“One moment,” Ari says dreamily and Stiles sees her inhale slowly, turning to face the wall._

_“What are-,”_

_Before he can speak, he watches Ari topple towards the wall. The dull thud her head makes against the stone makes him cringe._

_“Ari, what the_ _f_ _-,”_

_“Better,” she says, suddenly sounding clearer. “Not for long. Listen. It’s French. The Beast. The strongest werewolf. A man who changed without the bite. He was killed ages ago- this must be what the Doctors were trying to make with the chimeras. Look at Deaton’s; I think he had a book there you can look at for more information.”_

_“Okay. All right- Ari, we can try to get you out of here-,”_

_“_ _No_ _,” she suddenly says, swaying, shaking her head. “No. You can’t jeopardize your agreement. I’m fine. I’m just…it would help, to have a crystal. Would you tell the Hunters?”_

_“Yes. Yes, I’ll tell them. And Ari-_ _stay safe_ _.”_

_“You too.”_

* * *

“She did _not_ seem okay,” Liam sighs as they pull up to the clinic.

“I know. I don’t like her being in there. At least she’s human; they may not do much other than drug her. We should get her a crystal, though. It’ll help, even if only a little.”

The clinic is dark and Stiles slips into the back, appraising the bookshelf.

“Look for anything in French. If you can find a bestiary it’ll help, too,” Stiles directs.

Stiles opens his backpack on the counter, stowing a few books as he looks. He knows Deaton won’t mind and he’s sure he’ll need a few in the future.

They both jump when Stiles’ phone rings.

“Hello?”

“ _Stiles. It’s Argent._ ”

“Chris,” Stiles exhales, forgetting all sense of formality. “Did Lydia have you call?”

“ _She did,_ ” the man says, soundly vaguely amused. “ _I looked up the material she asked me to, although I didn’t quite have to. You realize Valet was our ancestor?_ ”

“I suspected. Haven’t had time to do much digging myself, what with friends being locked up in Eichen and such.”

“ _…that place should be closed,_ ” Chris says quietly. Stiles shakes his head.

“That’s not happening.”

“ _No, I mean it **should** be closed. Or at least restaffed. Its registration ran out years ago._”

“Well, that’s one more thing for the Mediator to do,” Stiles growls.

“ _Ah. I do hope you’re getting along. About the Beast- it **can’t** be the same one. You may be right that Theo and the Doctors were trying to engineer one. If that’s true, it may be someone you know. It’s easier to kill than subdue._”

“Well, we _have_ to find out who it is. If the Beast isn’t aware of its own actions, we need to capture it before it does something the Mediator will have to punish it for.”

“ _Stiles…Mediators are difficult to work with. You may have trouble doing things with the Hunters in town._ ”

“So I’ve heard,” Stiles sighs, flipping a book open. “Well, thank you. It’s nice to have some help.”

“ _Any time._ ”

“Did you find the book?” Liam asks.

Stiles doesn’t get a chance to answer. Somewhere further in the clinic, the sound of nails against metal echoes.

“Hide,” Stiles hisses, ducking beneath a metal operation table.

“We can’t hide from it!” Liam whispers, ducking behind a cabinet.

“If it leaves, we can try and get out,” Stiles mutters, tense.

The footsteps thump closer and Stiles breathes slowly, a hand wrapped around his crystal. It burns his palm and he drops it, worried. _I can’t take this thing. **We** can’t take it._

When the door opens Stiles holds his breath. He can hear its heavy breathing, the dark cloud surrounding its body swirling reflections onto the metal surfaces of the clinic.

There’s a low growl and the citrine burns a flame-orange.

“ _Run!_ ” Stiles yells to Liam, flipping the table over towards the Beast. He barely registers Liam sprinting out the door before he feels a gust of air followed by a giant, clawed hand.

He feels burning power as he braces an arm against the blow, the same static buffer buzzing along his arm.

“I know you. This is not you,” Stiles tries, gritting his teeth as he resists the Beast. _I have to get through to it, but **can** I?_

The Beast moves back, snarling as it readies for an attack. Something in Stiles tells him to strike. As the Beast lunges, he dodges, trying to get his hand on the Beast’s neck. The creature knocks him into a cabinet and he lies winded for a moment, the static buzz dropping ever so slightly.

“Come on. You are a person. I _know_ there’s a person in there. Wake up!”

The Beast swipes again and Stiles yells, struggling to deflect it. His energy is sapping and he knows he has to do _something_ but he doesn’t know what. It’s as if someone is talking to him through a wall, voice muffled.

Suddenly the door swings open again and Liam approaches. Stiles notices the bat in his hands and he both wants to hug and yell at the werewolf. _I wanted you to save yourself,_ he thinks.

The Beast turns to Liam and Stiles roars, jumping to his feet as he _pushes_.

The static explodes off his skin and he watches the Beast fly back out the doors, roaring as it goes.

“Go. We need to- _go_ ,” Stiles manages, pushing Liam outside even as his vision blurs.

The voice in his head is getting louder and as he stumbles out the door, he sees Liam’s face swim before his eyes.

The last thing he thinks to himself is _I hope he gets out safely._

 

* * *

 

_You know, it is easier to get things done when you communicate._

**That’s what I keep telling everyone,** Stiles thinks, and then he’s confused. **What is this?**

_Your mind, as it were,_ the voice replies. Stiles can’t quite place it- it’s not really male or female, is some kind of indescribable knowledge rather than an audible voice.

**If it’s my mind, can I imagine a place?**

_If it helps._

Stiles thinks he’s dreaming, but he imagines a room anyways. It forms around his body, which he realizes is suddenly _there_ and then it hits him that the room isn’t just any room, it’s Derek’s loft.

**Why do I keep coming here?**

_I think you know. But that is not the important thing at the moment._

**You’re right. The important thing is that you- whatever you are- keep…possessing me. And I don’t know why, or what you are.**

_I am not human. I am not evil, either. I simply…am._

**Okay, Vision, that’s great- but that doesn’t tell me what you ARE, or WHY you keep using my body.**

_I do not use your body. You use your body. All I do is give you power. And I do not inhabit you._

**So how does this work?** Stiles asks, and he feels weird talking to himself so a glowing body appears. **That’s so weird…**

_It is normal to crave human interaction. To answer your question, the closest thing I could compare myself to is a spirit. Not an ethereal one, but rather a sentiment. I am a feeling. I am the spirit of vengeance._

**Vengeance? I don’t want-**

_You do. Most humans do. Do not mistake vengeance for an unjust quality. It may be quite just. The just vengeance is that which is meted upon the deserving- those who are not undeserving. Those who deserve retribution._

**So you’re saying you’re the feeling of retribution. A feeling is where that power comes from?**

_It is. The more vengeance you seek, the greater your power._

**So why was I able to shield myself against the Beast? Why is vengeance not a weapon?**

The spirit laughs and Stiles feels unsettled. Somehow he thinks the laugh is a façade, a mannerism meant to make him feel comfortable, to make the spirit more human. It doesn’t work.

_Vengeance is what you make of it. It comes in the form of a sword or a shield, depending on the bearer and the circumstance. It is- like any other emotion- a tool. So long as you are just in your punishment, you will receive my power._

**For how long? And how do I control the power if it’s emotion?**

_It is a tool that fits the bearer. How this power becomes yours is up to you. Once you accept it, you may use it._

Stiles feels the room blur around him, coming back into focus sharply.

**Wait- I can’t wake up, I need to know! How do I-**

The room blurs again and Stiles becomes all too aware of his body, pulled back into reality.

“How do I accept it?” Stiles manages weakly and then his head bounces on the back seat of the car.

He sees Liam’s worried gaze in the rearview mirror before his head bounces again and he loses consciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a treat, and because I the other chapter was shorter than I thought, here's another chapter! I'm ramping up to the close of the Beast arc and then we'll get some familiar faces joining the fray...*wink* *wink*!


	9. Shield

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As things come to a head with the Beast, Stiles realizes he has a choice with his new power. Ari meets a patient in Eichen and her encounter leaves her certain she can heal them. The question for both of them is, should they?

“We need help.”

“Yeah, you’ve got that right,” Stiles mutters, rubbing his tired eyes.

It’s been three hours since the Beast’s attack and Stiles has just woken up, tired and sore and utterly used. He feels that despite the spirit’s answers, he still has more questions than before.

“We couldn’t fight that thing. _I_ couldn’t. You passed out after protecting yourself _and_ you had a nosebleed- it got _everywhere_ ,” Liam adds, running a hand through his hair.

Stiles has an image of himself, younger and worried, gesturing madly as he talked to Scott. The idea makes his eyes sting but he ignores it, focusing on Liam.

“Listen- the spirit…or whatever it is, it gave me answers. Sort of,” Stiles amends, waving his hand haphazardly as he climbs off his couch. “I think that it’s not bad. I can use its power, it seems, but if I want to get stronger I have to accept it.”

“What do you mean, accept it?”

“I don’t know. It was really unclear about that,” Stiles sighs, grabbing a glass from the cupboard.

“Okay,” Liam says tiredly. “Look…I’m going home for now. I’ll try and call Scott, see what’s happening- you get some rest.”

 

* * *

* * *

 

Ari thinks, vaguely amused, that in the worst of situations it sometimes becomes easier to accept the small things that used to aggravate you.

There’s a small quartz chip stuck under the nail of her left ring finger. She had felt the faint whisper of crystal in the stone of her cell at night, the tiny pulse drawing her near. If there was one thing she’d learned in her time alone, it was that counting on others was often a bad idea. Backup was essential to survival.

It had taken her all night to expose the tiny grain of crystal from the stone in the wall. She’d worked quietly, scratching with a now sore and torn nail. The crystal had been inviting, easily accepting the energy she quietly poured into it.

_I feel better now,_ she thinks to herself, sitting with her legs crossed on the scratchy bed.

“Time to socialize.”

It’s an orderly’s voice. The man is unpleasant but not the worst. He has a short temper but he never torments without provocation. If she is quiet, he will not hurt her. Ari rises slowly, approaching with her eyes downcast but her head level.

The orderly takes her to the Court Yard. It’s a mocking name for the basement room, the dimly lit area overseen by a pulpit-like post occupied by an orderly. The less dangerous patients of the supernatural ward are taken for thirty minutes a day, allowed to walk around and talk.

Not that anyone does much talking, except to themselves.

After two minutes, Ari wishes she were back in her cell. The others have expressions that make her uneasy- some have dead eyes; others have slow, wicked smiles. She knows she can protect herself, but the small quartz chip doesn’t do much to comfort her.

There’s a small commotion by the door and she turns her head, alert and curious. An orderly shoves patients away with a baton, glaring as he opens the door to admit another orderly escorting a man.

Ari has never seen the man before. He is handsome, she thinks, even though his hair is overgrown and ragged. His face is turned towards the ground and the dim light casts shadows across his nose and cheekbones. She looks at him, trying to assess how much of a threat she is.

Someone shoves Ari from behind and she stumbles forward, taking the calculated risk in hopes that she’ll catch a better view of the man just in case she can tell what he is.

The corner of his mouth twitches upwards as she moves and she sees his hand move, reaching up to steady her.

“Clever girl.”

 

* * *

* * *

 

Stiles bites his lip as he watches Liam pace a hole in the carpet.

Scott is on his way and Stiles knows Liam isn’t happy. He also knows that they’re rapidly running out of options and he can’t help in his current state.

There’s a knock at the door and Stiles glances at Liam, waiting for his nod before opening it.

“Hey,” Scott says and he looks both relieved and anxious.

“Where’s Hayden?” Liam asks immediately and Stiles hold in his sigh.

“She’s staying in the desert,” Scott explains. “With Kira.”

“ _With_ Kira,” Stiles repeats quietly.

Scott has the grace to look guilty for a moment but he lifts his chin anyways, resolve making him firmer.

“Yes. Kira doesn’t feel safe leaving.”

“So what now?” Liam demands, looking between Stiles and Scott. “We _can’t_ do this on our own.”

“We can,” Scott starts, but Liam cuts him off.

“No, we _can’t_. You weren’t here when that thing attacked me and Stiles. It’s _strong_ , Scott. We don’t even know how to stop it safely.”

“Maybe not- but we can still fight it without killing it. We just need to know who it is, right? Once we know we can try and talk to them when they’re human, see if that helps-,”

“See if that _helps_? And what if it doesn’t? What if they change into that… _thing_ , and they can’t change back?”

The room is quiet and Stiles looks between the two, wishing things didn’t have to be so difficult all the time. _Can we for once just have the answers? All of them?_ _Don’t we deserve it, for once?_

Stiles’ phone rings and they all twitch, not quite energetic enough to jump.

“Jeez..,” Stiles mutters, answering the call. “Hello?”

“Stiles. It’s been a while,” Deaton says.

“ _WHAT THE-,”_

“You should come to the clinic. I have some answers for you.”

 

* * *

 

“This is unbelievable,” Stiles mutters as he walks into the clinic room.

Deaton looks, quite honestly, like shit. He looks worn, small scratches and bruises decorating his visible skin. Stiles doesn’t want to think about what the man might be hiding.

“You’re telling me,” Deaton says, raising his eyebrows. “Now. I believe there’s a Beast in town.”

“Yeah. How did you know?” Scott asks.

“A little bird told me,” Deaton says placidly but Stiles can hear the razor edge in his voice.

_He isn’t happy. I would, in fact, venture to say that he is **pissed**._

“Do you know how to fight it?” Liam asks, antsy.

“I know how to incapacitate it. Curing the individual, however, will take some screaming. Some very _particular_ screaming,” Deaton stresses, pulling a duffel bag from the floor onto the examining table with a _thump_.

“Lydia,” Stiles says quietly.

“We should call her,” Scott tells Stiles. “If she’s willing…”

“She’ll come,” Stiles says shortly. “So I assume you all will commiserate over how to capture this Beast- in the meantime, I’ll call Lydia…and maybe find out more about this _spirit_ thing.”

It’s the word _spirit_ that gets a reaction from Deaton, Stiles notices.

“Or maybe I won’t have to,” Stiles says, looking directly at the man.

“Make the call. We’ll talk,” Deaton says.

 

* * *

* * *

 

“I don’t appreciate being called a lizard,” Ari says drily, gauging for a reaction.

The moment evaporates and the man’s grey-blue eyes pass over her, unfocused and dull.

 “I’m sorry,” Ari says, trying to extricate herself from his grasp. She feels uneasy.

The man gently pushes her towards the center of the room, shuffling as if he is injured. She wonders if he’s literally been beaten into submission, so far gone that the orderlies decided it wouldn’t hurt to let him loose with the others.

“What’s your name?” Ari asks. She isn’t sure what to think of the man but something tells her he’s a werewolf.

The man yawns, teeth white and oddly dangerous-looking, and she thinks _definitely werewolf_.

_Well, I could have picked a better conversation partner,_ she thinks. He seems harmless, though, so she decides she’ll let him cling to her for the day. She hopes he doesn’t make a habit of it.

As they pass under a light she sees something strange. It looks like a scar.

 “What’s this?” She asks and without thinking she reaches towards his forehead where a tiny raised mark stands.

Her fingertips barely brush the spot before his eyes widen, body suddenly rigid as his hand flies from her arm. She only just registers the change before she feels his claws sink into her neck, the pain sharp and clear through the distant fog of sedatives.

Ari can only make a small noise as she is paralyzed, body stiff and numb as a _presence_ rips into her mind.

The entrance isn’t kind. She knows how to protect her mind, though, so she easily corrals the invading force, reigning it into a small box as she tries to gauge what it wants and what’s happening.

_It’s him. The man._

The images come quickly and she tries to relax, breathing slowly as she lets them play.

_Peter,_ she thinks, the name rising to the surface in a flurry of images. Family. Fire. Pain. Loss. Anger.

She sees a hospital, a man, and strangely, Stiles. Lydia appears and then she is gone, replaced by more people and then fire _again, fire_ and a cold feeling that hits her in the center of her chest. It creeps into her veins and she lets it in, knowing that she can bleed it out later. There is a flurry of activity, images of Eichen and a strange young woman and Peter, the man with blue-grey eyes, hoping and losing hope and realizing what he did.

It culminates in a cell, familiarly stony, and a strange man with bandages around his head.

The bandaged man makes Ari flinch back and she realizes what he must be, shakes her head as he unwraps the bandages. _No,_ she thinks, suddenly struggling, realizing that she has to stop the flow of memories before it affects her. _No. No._

_NO._

 

* * *

* * *

 

“I think you know something. Something that can help me,” Stiles says quietly.

Deaton moves slowly, taking bottles and jars out of steel cabinets.

“I do. I was told never to tell you. I promised.”

“Promised who?”

“Your mother,” Deaton says.

Even as the man answers Stiles is swallowing hard, unshed tears threatening his eyes.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t know her. Not really. She told me what she had done out of duty. There are rules in the supernatural world, Stiles.”

“Yeah, because _everyone_ follows them,” Stiles snaps, tired and frustrated. “Look- I don’t care. Right now, all I want are answers.”

“That spirit you’re talking about isn’t a spirit. It’s you.”

“…me,” Stiles says quietly. “It can’t be me. I…,”

“People talk to themselves sometimes. When they’re in denial,” Deaton says carefully.

            **What is this?** _Your mind, as it were._

“That can’t…I don’t...,” Stiles tries, stuttering as his mind plays catch-up.

“Your name was pledged when you were born. The name was one your mother picked for its meaning- it was never meant to be part of _something_. What she didn’t know is that there _was_ something with that name. When you were named, you became connected to it.”

“What is it?”

Stiles wonders if he wants to know the answer but he asks anyways.

“It’s hard to explain,” Deaton starts. “It’s a spirit of some type, like it said. There are many types- this one in particular is part of a group meant to be impartial. Pure. Representative of specific facets of human behavior.”

The answer hits Stiles like a ton of bricks.

“An angel.”

            _I _am not human. I am not evil, either. I simply…am.__

“You mean an angel,” Stiles laughs, choking on his own tears. He is torn between a vague sense of excitement and a greater sense of shock and fear. “It said it was a tool. That whoever wields it determines what it is. There are angels for everything- knowledge, children…punishment.”

“I don’t know if we can call them angels,” Deaton starts, but Stiles snorts, shaking his head.

“Well, we’ve got hellhounds, so why not?”

Deaton smiles, softly placing a bottle onto the table.

“Some of these spirits can fade away, Stiles, if they don’t have enough power. When you were born, the spirit was fading. By naming you, your mother tied that strength to you. That’s all it is. You can accept it as part of you, or you can release it.”

“I can release it?” Stiles asks, confused. “I thought I just-,”

“You can release it. The name is what ties you to it,” Deaton reminds him, leaning across the table. “You have a choice, Stiles. If you believe these are angels, then I suppose you have this choice: remain human, or become a vessel for the angel’s power.”

* * *

* * *

Ari thinks about Peter as she lies on her hard bed.

The memory transferal wasn’t neat, but she knows how long Peter has been locked away and she’s honestly surprised that he could even initiate it at all.

_I can help him_ , she thinks to herself and the quartz under her nail chimes in agreement. _I can help him, but first I need my crystal back._

“Do you really think you’re strong enough to heal that much mental pain?” Ari murmurs, turning to face the wall.

She is quiet for a minute as she listens to the dark noises of the basement cells.

_I am._

 

* * *

* * *

 

“ _It’s Mason_ ,” Scott breathes heavily on the other end of the line and Stiles feels his heartbeat stop.

_Mason?_

He doesn’t get to voice his shock before Scott continues.

“ _We managed to knock him out, but we need Lydia’s help. She said she’d be here tomorrow night, right?_ ”

“Um…yeah, yeah, she’s coming with Parrish,” Stiles stumbles, still shocked. “Scott, how-,”

“ _I don’t know. We have him locked up with the Hunters for now. Deaton’s going to watch him._ ”

“Okay,” Stiles says, nodding. “Okay. We just have to wait for Lydia.”

“ _Yeah_ ,” Scott huffs. “ _Listen- after we help him, I think we should talk. About whatever it is you’re dealing with. I know it’s weird…but I’ll help. We’ll all try to help._ ”

“…thanks,” Stiles manages, swallowing. He isn’t sure how to handle everything at once.

“ _Okay. We’ll see you tomorrow,_ ” Scott says.

“Yeah. Tomorrow.”

Stiles stands in his living room for a second, indecisive, and then he thinks _screw it_ before he runs out the door.

 

* * *

 

“We know who it is and how we can try to release him. That’s all we have left to do.”

“Good,” Ari says, sighing as she leans against the wall. “And Theo?”

“He’s already tried to attack the bank once. Mediator Dufresne knows he’s to blame now.”

“Good,” Ari repeats, tired. The effort of pouring extra energy into the crystal has drained her. “Good. And you know something, which is why you came. What did you learn?”

“The spirit is like an angel. That’s the easiest way to explain it. It’s only power, though, and I can accept or reject it. I’m not sure how, but I can.”

“You and your friend will make quiet the team,” Ari laughs, shaking her head. “Hellhound and angel.”

“Yeah. We would,” Stiles agrees, vaguely amused.

He isn’t sure when his life went from strange to bizarre, but the change is making him unsteady.

“Stiles. I need to tell you something,” Ari starts, serious. “I need you to stay calm.”

Stiles narrows his eyes, looking for something in Ari’s eyes. He’s not sure what to expect.

“What is it?” He asks, cautious.

“There’s a patient here…he’s been damaged. Badly. I think the staff threw him in a cell with a man who had a third eye.”

Stiles shivers.

“I know the man. He’s dangerous.”

“He was,” Ari agrees. “The patient…I can help him. He’s not gone, just…retreated into his own mind. For safety.”

“What is the patient?” Stiles asks, worried. He knows what Eichen is like, but he grudgingly reminds himself that many of the basement patients really are dangerous. They’re locked away for a reason.

“A werewolf,” Ari says quietly.

Something twinges in Stiles’ chest. A warning.

“Who is it?”

“Peter,” Ari finally says, watching him intensely.

“No- I don’t…,” Stiles immediately blurts, trying to figure out a way to explain. _Not Peter. Not after all he’s done._

“Stiles,” Ari starts, warning. “He’s hurt. He’s been hurt for a while; I think you know that. I think everyone knew that. You didn’t know how to help him, though. I do.”

Stiles swallows. _How do I tell her? How do I explain the pain he caused? Is still causing?_

“Ari, he’s done terrible things,” Stiles explains. “He…he’s responsible for so many deaths.”

“I know. He showed me,” Ari murmurs.

_Oh, god._

“You know, then. You know you can’t let him out.”

“I know that he’s lost, Stiles. Doesn’t he deserve help? When you let him into the Pack before, you didn’t accept him. None of you did. He’s needed help since the fire and he hasn’t been able to find any. I won’t say that it’s not his fault because it is. But things aren’t that black and white.”

_I don’t trust him,_ Stiles wants to say, but part of him knows it isn’t true. It’s that part of himself that he doesn’t trust.

“I don’t know that you can heal him,” Stiles says quietly. “I don’t know that anyone can.”

 

* * *

Late at night, Stiles wakes up for no reason.

When he sits up, he starts coughing. There’s a tightness in his chest as he coughs, the pain squeezing air out of his lungs. He’s confused as he coughs and a simmering sense of unease rises in the back of his mind.

Was I dreaming? He wonders, trying to recall something, anything. He can’t.

His phone rings and he looks at the screen. It’s Scott.

“ _Mason’s back_ ,” Scott sighs happily. “ _Lydia came straight over. It worked. The Hunters are asking for you._ ”

“I’m on my way.”

 

* * *

_  
_

Deaton seems to be watching Stiles as he enters. It’s unnerving.

“You all right?” Christian asks. He looks tired.

“I’m fine,” Stiles dismisses, smiling weakly.

“I’m going to get Ari out,” Chris explains, clapping Stiles heavily on the shoulder. “I’ll be back.”

“Good,” Stiles exhales, relieved. He didn’t like the way she seemed foggy in Eichen. Drugged.

“Stiles,” the Mediator calls from the back of the room.

The woman’s last name is Dufresne, Stiles had learned. She seems to know more than she lets on at all times and the idea makes him somewhat uneasy. He’s not a fan of being kept in the dark.

“We are sending your friends home,” the Mediator begins, keen eyes watching him. “Theo is coming.”

Stiles inhales sharply, fists clenching reflexively.

“I’ll stay,” Stiles says quietly. He doesn’t expect an argument.

When the others leave, Stiles looks around at the gathered Hunters. He wonders if Theo is alone and he wonders if the confrontation will end badly. The Mediator wants Theo alive.

The front door opens and Stiles tenses for a moment before he sees Christian with Ari close behind. Ari’s black dress makes her fair skin look stark in the night. Stiles notices the watch on her wrist, covering the mark he’d forgotten to ask about. _I have to remember to ask what it is._

“He’s almost here,” Christian says, opening a knife holster on his leg.

“Stiles,” Ari says. “You’re going to have a choice. Whatever happens, stay close behind me.”

“I will.”

Stiles can already feel the mounting static on his skin, the energy urging him to act. _I won’t,_ he thinks to himself. _I won’t._

When Theo appears, roaring and angry, Stiles feels the static explode against his skin. The chimeras attack the Hunters but Stiles feels no pull to them, sure they are scared and intimidated into acting for Theo. He only feels one pull.

“No,” Stiles bites out, trying to ignore the energy. His rigid body twitches, fighting to move forward.

_I can’t. I can’t._

A chimera tries to attack Ari and Stiles sees her hand move in an arc, the stone on her ring glowing hotly as some of its energy is released, pushing the chimera away. _I just want to help,_ Stiles thinks to himself.

“Don’t. _Don’t_ ,” Stiles grits his teeth, feet planted.

“Accept it!” Ari yells at him, not turning as she watches the fight, stone glowing. “You have to accept it, Stiles!”

He can’t answer and suddenly Theo is there, swiping Ari away. Time seems to run by and Stiles watches Ari hit the ground, skidding painfully against the wall.

The static hum resolves itself into a note, clear and steady, and Stiles thinks _Okay_.

When Theo strikes, Stiles swings his arm forward, blocking, and all he can think of is a shield.

The hot energy in his crystal saps out and he can feel the resulting field, a wave of intent, as it hits Theo. The ripple moves through the room, knocking down the chimeras as it goes.

When the movement ends, Stiles exhales, suddenly weaker as he sinks to his knees. He barely feels Ari’s hand on his shoulder.

“Good job, Stiles. You did it. Good job,” she murmurs quietly.

 

* * *

 

“I’m going to see Kira,” Scott explains, moving away from the tree he was leaning on.

“You’ll be gone for the rest of break, then,” Stiles muses.

“I’m going with him. Maybe Hayden’s ready to come back,” Liam guesses. Somehow his words don’t sound as urgent as before.

“Maybe,” Stiles agrees. “I’ll be here. Call if you need anything.”

“We will,” Scott says.

Before he turns to leave, Stiles sees Scott glance at the citrine on Stiles’ chest. He looks like he wants to say something but he doesn’t, smiling instead as he goes.

Stiles knows firsthand how confusing his power is. After Theo’s attack, he’d realized most of what he’d been able to do is gone. All he’s left with, according to Ari, is shielding.

_I heal. You shield,_ Ari had said. _It’s a good choice. Just remember to charge your crystal._

He’d been weak for a few hours after the fight with Theo. Ari had explained that since the power was his now, he would have to put energy into his crystal for later use. He still isn’t entirely sure how to use his power but Ari had promised to help him train. _If it’s your power, I know what to do._

The Hunters’ car rolls to a stop in front of Stiles’ house. He’s surprised to see they haven’t left yet. When the side door opens, Kala steps out.

“We’re leaving. Thank you for your help,” she says, offering a hand.

Stiles shakes it.

“Thank you. Good luck.”

Kala pauses, almost as if she’s not sure whether she should say something.

“Christian is staying,” she finally says. Stiles is surprised.

“Why?”

“We’ve initiated an overhaul of Eichen. He has the technology to monitor the basement levels without interference so he’ll stay behind to make sure nothing happens.”

Stiles can feel a weight rise from his chest. _Eichen. They’re finally doing something._

“Thank you,” Stiles says again and he hopes the words can convey what he’s feeling.

“We shouldn’t be thanked for a job that should have already been done,” Kala says quietly as she opens the car door again. “Take care, Stiles.”

“Take care,” he replies quietly.

“Time to train,” a voice issues from his front door. Stiles smiles, turning. Ari is leaning against the door frame.

“Let’s get started.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Wait!", I hear you cry. "Derek never showed up! What's the point?!"  
> Well.  
> Who said it was over?


	10. 2: Prelude to Destruction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the Beast and Theo taken care of, Stiles is worried when his crystal is still warm against his skin. As Stiles is dealing with things, the Sheriff makes an important point and Ari discharges Peter from Eichen. Both Stiles and Ari are faced with the consequences of their actions and as they're making plans, a new threat emerges.

Ari walks into Eichen again with the thought that maybe she shouldn’t be there.

“Ari. What are you doing here?”

It’s Christian. She almost sighs in relief but holds it in instead, trying to calm her pounding heart.

“I’m here for Peter.”

“Peter?” Christian looks confused but he approaches anyways, leaving the front desk to meet her.

“He’s a patient- belowground.”

Christian hums in acknowledgement, eyes scanning her face. _He’s trying to make sure I’m not crazy. Or something._ He seems to approve of what he sees, leading her back into the desk area.

“Peter. Here’s his file- are you taking him home, or-?”

“I’ll be taking him to a new facility,” Ari smiles, trying to mask the lie with a friendly attitude.

She knows Peter will never be released to her. It’s easier to lie, she thinks, even if she has to be responsible for every aspect of his care. _I can’t leave him here. If I take this responsibility, it has to be mine alone. No one else can suffer if I fail._

“Okay. Here’s the file- do you need help taking him out? I can ask an orderly to help or I can go with you.”

“I’ll be fine,” Ari says even though she isn’t sure.

For all she knows, Peter will rip her throat out and toss her body into his empty cell.

 

* * *

 

Stiles is making dinner when he feels the pull.

It’s been a week since the Beast and Theo were taken care of and his citrine is still warm. He isn’t sure what it means but he has the constant feeling that he needs to _do_ something. It’s unnerving.

_Theo and the Beast are gone. Why is it still acting up?_

John gets home for dinner and Stiles is absorbed, not talking. He’s running through things in his mind and before he realizes it, he’s done the dishes and is making his way back to his room.

“Melissa called.”

Stiles pauses on the stairs, one hand on the banister.

“What happened?”

“Nothing happened. It was about you- and Scott,” John says, emerging from the kitchen.

Stiles swallows.

“Did you tell her what happened with Donovan?” his father asks quietly.

“No,” Stiles says immediately, turning. “How could I-,”

His father raises a hand, stopping him.

“So let me get this straight, son. You talked to her about Scott and you didn’t explain what was happening? You didn’t tell her _anything_?”

“Should I have told her that Scott thought I _murdered_ someone?” Stiles asks, incredulous.

“No, but I would have expected you to _warn_ her since you didn’t know what was happening with Theo and those other kids he was controlling.”

“Scott should have told her that-,”

“No,” John cuts him off, shaking his head as he enters the living room.

Stiles follows his father, stung.

“What do you mean, no? I shouldn’t have expected Scott to tell his mom what was happening with Theo?”

“Son, when was the last time you told _me_ what was happening in your life? We just had dinner without saying _one word_.”

Stiles stops, blood running cold.

“That’s different, dad, I-,”

“I don’t want to hear you tell me you’re human, kid, I _know_ Ari was training you. Even if you’re not a werewolf, you have power just like I do when I put my badge on. You’re involved.”

“I know I’m involved; I just don’t want _you_ to be!” Stiles exclaims, raising his hands in defeat. “I’m trying to _protect_ you!”

“Do you think I need protecting, son? I’m already involved. You keep _not_ telling people things- you _and_ your friends- and you’ll only end up hurting the people you’re trying to save.”

 

* * *

 

Ari is antsy as she drives Peter to the loft. It’s nice, she thinks, and probably expensive- but the owner is dead and she has the rights to the place, at least for another year.

Peter is silent. His eyes are distant, but she thinks the glassy sheen is dissolving as the drugs wear off. She isn’t sure what he’ll be like once his system is clear, hopes that he isn’t violent. She knows what he’s been through, knows how his mind has been damaged. Chained.

Once they get inside she sits Peter on the couch, moving to the kitchen to make a glass of the only remedy she knows. It’s made of water, unfortunately, and several powders she knows will help clear the werewolf’s system. It tastes disgusting, she’s been told, but it doesn’t really matter.

“Come on,” she murmurs, holding the glass to Peter’s lips. “I need you to drink. Come on, Peter.”

He moves like a robot, obeying her commands with a kind of empty instinct. She’s glad he drinks the water but when he swallows, he jerks and she has to hold a hand down on his shoulder, trying to keep him in place.

His eyes start to clear as he drinks. She vaguely hears the couch rip, ignoring it as she closely watches Peter’s face. She doesn’t want to be caught off guard.

In a fraction of a second, the glass shatters against the opposite wall and suddenly she’s bent over the coffee table, a clawed hand grasping her throat. It’s not tight enough to choke her but it’s tight enough to make her extremely uncomfortable.

_So much for being on guard,_ Ari thinks dryly, trying to make her gaze steely as she looks up at Peter.

“You were useful,” Peter says. His voice is rough with disuse. “But I have a score to settle.”

“No you don’t,” Ari manages, reaching her arm between them. The ring on her finger is warm as she pushes him back, flipping him onto the couch. She gets an arm across his neck, braced stiffly.

“Nice trick,” Peter chuckles. “But we both know it won’t stop me.”

“I can’t let you go after your own family, Peter. I _know_ it’s not what you really want.”

“Family?” Peter repeats, amused. “No, I couldn’t care _less_ about them. I’m going after Valack.”

The way Peter says _less_ makes Ari smile.

“I think you could care less,” Ari says, removing her arm. She reaches for his face and he looks confused for a second, glancing at her hand as she places it on his forehead.

The ring on her finger burns brightly and she closes her eyes, focused. _I heal,_ she thinks. _This is my power._

She reaches back, far into his mind where she knows the singed edges of a fiery death still remain. The death is like a scar, a dead plain in the bright web of his mind. She knows she’s overreaching, delving so deep into another’s psyche, but she reaches anyways.

_If I can heal one person, I have to heal him,_ she thinks. _He has a family. He doesn’t deserve this. They don’t deserve this._

It’s a stupid idea, she knows, but she has a stupid hope that Peter will pull through.

Hope is her soft spot.

 

* * *

 

“I’m sorry for calling late,” Stiles starts, getting it out before he can blurt something awkward.

“ _It’s fine,_ ” Scott says, voice tinny over the video connection. “ _Is something wrong?_ ”

Stiles swallows. He’d felt the pull to call Scott for the entire day. It felt like the spirit from before, which shouldn’t be possible, because Stiles had accepted its power and let it go. At least he _thinks_ he did.

“No- yes,” Stiles amends, trying to stop himself from dismissing the issue. “Yes. We never got a chance to talk before you left.”

Scott leans in, shifting in his seat.

“ _…okay. What did you want to talk about?_ ”

“I didn’t tell you about Donovan,” Stiles starts.

“ _I know-_ ,” Scott begins, but Stiles shakes his head.

“I need you to know _why_. Listen- I didn’t trust Theo. I never did. I don’t know why; maybe it was the thing inside me trying to tell me something. Either way, I didn’t trust him- but _you_ did.”

“ _Stiles, we’ve been through this,_ ” Scott says, and he seems angry. Stiles wants to laugh. _He’s right._

“I know. But I didn’t trust you, either.”

“ _What do you mean?_ ”

“I mean that after you decided to trust Theo, _somehow_ , I thought that I couldn’t trust you.”

Scott is quiet.

“ _Well, you were right about Theo._ ”

“Yeah. But I wasn’t right about you. Scott, how long have we been friends? How much have we _been through_ in the past three years? After everything, _I stopped trusting you_.”

Scott looks down. Stiles swallows, hoping he doesn’t hang up. He has to finish.

“ _I haven’t been the best friend at times. I ditched you all the time for Allison. I spent a whole summer with **Isaac** , remember?_”

Scott laughs and Stiles laughs with him, but he still wants Scott to know.

“Yeah, but I haven’t been smart lately either. I thought that after everything, I just needed to do things by myself…I did what Theo wanted, Scott. He told me he knew what I’d done and instead of telling you, I decided to go along with him to spare you.”

“ _You worked with him?_ ” Sott asks. He doesn’t look angry, he thinks. He looks sad. It’s almost worse.

“I did,” Stiles swallows. “And it was stupid- but _we_ were stupid. _I_ was stupid. I let Theo get to me because I’d already given up on you. I thought I was alone.”

“ _You’re not alone_ ,” Scott says, smiling sadly. “ _We’re not alone, Stiles. We’re a Pack, remember?_ ”

“Yeah,” Stiles says, laughing tiredly. He feels the citrine lose heat against his chest and he thinks it’s strange, wonders why now. “I think we all forgot that. Listen, when you get back-,”

“ _…at? …tile…You…king u…_ ”

“Scott?” Stiles frowns, leaning closer to the screen. “Can you hear me?”

The video is fuzzy and the audio cuts in and out as Stiles looks at his Wi-Fi, trying to check his connection. _Is it me, or him? Or both?_

Stiles tries to refresh the connection, but as he waits, he sees something in his computer screen. It looks like a person, he thinks, but they’re as tall as his doorway.

His heart stops and he turns.

What he sees rips a scream out of his throat and then he falls to the floor, blackness engulfing him.

 

* * *

 

“That was stupid,” Peter says as Ari wakes, wincing at the pain in her limbs.

“…yeah. I have a habit of doing stupid things,” she replies, coughing. “But you didn’t kill me.”

“Not yet,” Peter says quietly.

As she sits up, Ari scans Peter. He’s sitting on the couch opposite her, hands tangled together. His knuckles are white, leg jumpy. He seems to be holding something in.

His eyes, however, are what she wants to see.

“How are you feeling?” she asks.

Peter looks up and she catches her breath. His eyes are tired, foggy, sad. He looks like a different person.

“You did something to me,” he begins, shaking his head as if trying to disperse a cloud. “I don’t know what it was, but it feels…better.”

“It won’t last,” Ari says quietly. “I only suppressed your other side. It’s too much a part of you now to eliminate it.”

“I know,” Peter laughs, humorless. “The bloodthirsty werewolf in me would very much like to see your throat torn open.”

Ari nods, trying to ignore the way the statement makes her heartbeat jump. She knows he can hear it.

“I think you need to accept it,” she says quietly.

Peter looks up, sharp.

“You want me to _accept_ this-,”

“Yes,” Ari cuts him off, firm. “Your problem is that you’re distancing yourself from half of your personality. Your _being._ It’s unhealthy, first of all, and it’s making you unstable to boot. If you _accept_ that part of you, I think you can make it a little less…bloodthirsty.”

Peter grits his teeth, watching her. Ari can tell that he’s struggling.

“I don’t _want_ to be a killer, contrary to everyone’s beliefs,” Peter growls.

“That’s only half-true,” Ari murmurs, tilting his chin up with a tired hand as she stands above him. “You can either be a dysfunctional werewolf, or a non-functioning human. It’s your choice. What would you rather be?”

 

* * *

 

Stiles wakes with static in his ears and blood in his mouth.

He coughs wetly, horrified at the sound it makes. When he runs to the bathroom sink, the white porcelain is splattered with bright red.

_What just happened?_

He remembers the video call, remembers the connection breaking up, and then remembers only a person. Except it’s not a person, he knows, it’s a _thing_.

He can’t for the life of him remember what the thing was, but he knows it was terrifying and a part of him _doesn’t_ want to remember.

He does the only thing he can think of and calls Ari.

“Something’s here,” he says, breathing heavily.

“ _What? How do you know?_ ”

“I felt…it was the spirit. The angel,” Stiles manages, rubbing his eyes. His throat feels like shit.

“ _I thought you accepted the power,_ ” Ari says cautiously. He can hear unease in her voice.

“I thought so, too,” Stiles laughs humorlessly. “Unless we were wrong about what it was.”

“ _That’s impossible,_ ” Ari says immediately. “ _Deaton told you about the spirit. He knew._ ”

“Well, maybe something went wrong with my accepting it. I don’t know- all I know is that _something is in town._ I can’t really remember what it is, and I _know_ that sounds strange, but it was in my room-,”

“ _Wait. You can’t remember?_ ” Ari asks. She sounds grave.

“Yeah, I know I saw it but the memory is fuzzy. It’s strange…,”

“ _When did this happen?_ ”

“I was on a video call with Scott. The connection was bad and it was _there_ , in my room.”

“ _Did the connection go out before or after it came into your room?_ ”

“I don’t know for sure. I noticed the thing after my connection ended.”

“ _Okay,_ ” Ari says. “ _Listen, I can meet you at the library. I want you to look up the Tall Man._ ”

“Why don’t we go to Deaton’s? He might-,”

“ _You can’t go,_ ” Ari says suddenly, adamant. “ _If this is a Tall Man, anyone you’re around could get involved. Stiles- this thing is dangerous._ ”

“We can’t do everything alone,” Stiles argues. “Ari, listen, when I talked to Scott-,”

“ _Stiles. Just for today. **Only** today. You have to trust me. If you go to Deaton, he could be the next to see it._”

Stiles bites his lip, punching the wall with an angry fist.

“Okay.”

 

* * *

 

“So you think I have a split personality,” Peter says drily. He’s sweating, his leg jumping faster.

“I know it,” Ari replies, grabbing things from around the apartment, throwing them into a blue backpack. “I can help you, Peter, but until you decide I’ll have to-,”

“Do it,” Peter says suddenly.

Ari pauses in the middle of her movement.

“Are you sure?” she asks, standing before him. “Mental barriers are powerful things. Valack was well-trained; if I break the one in your mind, you may never be the same again.”

“I’m not the same _now_ ,” Peter bites out, rolling his head as he shifts his shoulders. “Do it.”

“Okay,” Ari says. “But if I do, I’m going to bind you to me- I can’t leave you here and trust that you’ll do what I say.”

“Do it.”

 

* * *

 

Stiles has a list of books to look for by the time Ari texts him.

_I’ll be there in 5. Spell wore me out._

Stiles briefly wonders what spell Ari was doing before he turns a corner, looking for the first book. _Celtic mythology_ , he thinks. _That’s new._

The library is mostly empty. There’s one desk worker who has disappeared to the back and Stiles is the only other person around. It makes him uneasy but there isn’t much that doesn’t lately.

“Four-four-six,” Stiles murmurs to himself, repeating the numbers like a mantra as he crouches in the stacks.

Above him, a light flickers.

He’s in the middle of looking when he starts coughing. It’s innocent enough at first but it rapidly gets worse. _I need water,_ he thinks to himself, trying to suppress the noise. As he steps out of the stacks, he sees the edge of a form by one of the other stacks.

_Who is that?_ Stiles wonders but as he steps forward his legs feel heavy, suddenly leaden as he falls to his knees. He has the overwhelming feeling that something is wrong. _It’s back,_ he realizes and then he wonders why his citrine isn’t heating up, why his power isn’t emerging.

“Stay back!” Stiles yells, coughing as he pulls the necklace chain out from under his shirt, holding the citrine tightly.

Whatever the thing is, it doesn’t move and then he’s losing consciousness, spiraling into the darkness again.

 

* * *

 

“..es. Stiles, wake up,” Ari says and suddenly Stiles blinks, coughing again.

He can feel warm blood on his hand as he coughs into it.

“Jesus,” Ari mutters, pulling him upright. “What happened? Did you-,”

“It was here,” Stiles manages, wheezing as Ari leads him to a nearby chair. He tilts his head back, blinking hard as spots blink before his eyes. _It’s like reverse fainting_ , he thinks drily.

“What exactly happened?”

“It just…showed up, appeared or something and I started coughing. I couldn’t move and I just…passed out, I guess.”

“This is bad,” Ari says testily, sighing in frustration. “I don’t think we need books. I think I know _exactly_ what is happening here. Let’s get you home and then-,”

Stiles doesn’t hear the rest of Ari’s sentence because he drops his head again and then it’s like he’s seeing a ghost or slipping into the past and he wonders if he’s still passed out.

The man at the end of the row of books has dark hair and hazel eyes. He’s wearing a worn leather jacket and his eyes are wide with worry and something else.

Stiles can’t breathe, can’t swallow and the blood on his hand is suddenly inconsequential.

“Derek?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Escalus for trying to keep me in line with what I am trying to deliver. I really do love when people take the time to comment, and I'm always excited to see people fighting for what they think is necessary character development.  
> That being said, I hope this interlude makes sense and helps underscore what's emerging as a theme here: trust and communication. I am a firm believer that 90% of the conflicts in Teen Wolf could have been solved with those two things. Anyhow, we're coming up on my favorite part of this story and the part I REALLY had planned. I'm excited for it and I hope you all enjoy, too...


	11. Calling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Tall Man's latest attack prompts Deaton to talk to Stiles about what the new threat may possibly be. The problem is, they don't really know anything. Stiles must make a decision about whether to involve the Pack and Ari tries to justify her decision to try helping Peter.

“You…,” Derek starts but he can’t seem to finish, eyes wide as he stares at Stiles.

 _He can’t be here. This isn’t real,_ Stiles thinks to himself, shaking his head.

“Who are you?” Ari asks, on guard. “What do you want?”

“No, no, no,” Stiles whispers, still shaking his head. He doesn’t want to go through this.

All of his thoughts about Derek, all of his memories coming to the surface recently, they all flood back to him in an overwhelming tide. He can’t believe that it’s Derek and he reaches for the wolfsbane in his pocket, the familiar pouch loose in his fingers.

“Stop-,” Ari begins to protest, tensing, but Derek ignores her and walks around to Stiles’ side.

“Stiles,” he tries, quiet. Stiles can see his hand reaching out, tentative. He holds his breath.

Derek’s hand is warm and rough. His wide palm is familiar and Stiles gasps in a breath, shocked to his core. He _wants_ to believe it’s Derek. He _wants_ to.

“No, no, it can’t be, he’s not here,” Stiles shakes his head, knowing he sounds crazy. He doesn’t care. The pouch in his hand falls open.

He remembers the Tall Man and he remembers passing out. For all he knows, he’s still asleep. For all he knows, the Tall Man can shapeshift into anyone. Into Derek.

“When we were in Mexico you didn’t want to leave me,” Derek says quietly. He doesn’t look down at the wolfsbane but Stiles can see the strain in his eyes.

_No. No._

“You thought I didn’t notice. I did. I saw everyone leaving and then I saw you look back, I _saw_ your eyes, Stiles. I-,”

“How-,” Stiles starts, trying to cut him off. “No. It’s not real, I’m still out-,”

“If I wasn’t real, would I know that I’ve told you a hundred times I’d rip your throat out? That you dropped me into a pool to try and save the both of us? That you’re stubborn and selfless and self- _sacrificing_ and so incredibly _stupid_ sometimes?”

“Maybe,” Stiles says, feeling tears burn his eyes as they spill over. He says the word but doesn’t believe it, can already feel the smile taking over his lips.

“If I wasn’t real, would I tell you that I trust you?” Derek asks quietly.

His eyes are very hazel, Stiles thinks numbly, just like the forest and swirling with colors.

“Maybe,” Stiles gasps, tears blurring his vision. “Maybe, because it’s what I _want_ to hear.”

“You can hurt me,” Derek says and there’s a small smile on his face that makes Stiles sob. “Use it. Use it so I can prove that I’m real. You can do it.”

“ _No_ ,” Stiles gasps, giving in. He falls into Derek’s chest and he’s _solid_ and _warm_ and Stiles wants to fall apart, stay in Derek’s arms forever and just forget about everything. “No, I can’t, I don’t want to hurt anyone else!”

“Stiles,” Ari says quietly. She sounds shocked. “You haven’t-,”

“I _have_ ,” Stiles growls, pushing Derek away as he struggles to get to his feet. “I _have_ , you don’t _know_ \- it hurt- I hurt _so_ many people, I hurt-,”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Derek quiets him, trying to pull him back. “It wasn’t your fault, you didn’t know.”

“I killed _Allison_ ,” Stiles whispers, squeezing his eyes shut. “ _I_ killed her.”

“No, you didn’t,” Derek says. His tone is stinging. “You _know_ you didn’t. It wasn’t your fault you were possessed.”

“It was all my fault, Derek- and I didn’t have _time_ , I didn’t have time to tell them-,”

His words stop and he feels his head snap to the side, the warm hand on his arm disappearing to slap him across the face. He looks at the wall for a moment, shocked, not sure if he’s about to see the Tall Man again. He isn’t sure he’s not dreaming now.

“If we’re going to solve this, I need you to _stop_ ,” Derek says. “Stop blaming yourself. Isn’t that what _you_ taught _me_?”

 

* * *

 

“We have to talk,” Ari says quietly.

The man glances at her, sidelong gaze open but unsure.

“What about?”

Ari watches Derek closely, trying to gauge whether or not he’ll be receptive. She honestly doesn’t know.

“I was detained in Eichen for a while by the Hunters that came through town.”

Derek stiffens. She’s not sure if he knows where she’s going or if he just disapproves of the action.

“…I’m sorry,” he says quietly, but it’s less of an apology and more of an acknowledgement.

“When I was there, I met Peter,” Ari says mildly.

Derek’s eyes are sharp as he focuses on her.

“Did he do anything?” Derek asks. He sounds as if he expects to hear something. As if he’s tired of hearing things.

“No. No, he was hurt. I think you know why.”

“Valack.”

“I assume you didn’t know.”

“I didn’t. I knew he was in Eichen, though. It figures.”

“I can help him. Peter,” Ari amends, watching for a reaction.

Derek looks tired. She can tell he doesn’t believe her. She can also see the light in his eyes. The hope.

“I don’t think he can be helped. We’ve tried,” Derek says firmly. “He had his second chance.”

“ _Did_ you give him one?” Ari asks quietly. Derek looks angry but she continues. “When I saw his memories I saw his ‘second chance’. It looked to me like he _took_ it.”

She remembers the scar of death in his mind. The miasma of fury and stubbornness surrounding it. She doesn’t think he was _given_ anything. She thinks he _took_ it- and that’s why he’s damaged.

“He had a second chance to live. To do things the right way,” Derek points out.

“Not when his nephew didn’t accept him. When _no one_ accepted him. He never had a second chance. He had an extension.”

“What’s the difference?”

“ _You_ should know the difference,” Ari hisses. “Didn’t you survive the fire? Didn’t you bury your sister? We _all_ get extensions, Derek. We all get pushes that give us the chance to move in another direction, but we don’t. We don’t because we’re too used to the lives we’re living. The ways we know.”

“I changed,” Derek says coldly. “I don’t know _what_ you saw in Peter’s mind, but he’s damaged. You don’t know me, and you don’t know _him._ ”

“I do. I know that you still want him to be your family, no matter what he’s done. You desperately want everything to go back to the way it was before the fire, I _know_ that. But you’ve accepted it can’t happen and so you’ve accepted that Peter is broken.”

Derek is quiet, looking down at Stiles sleeping on the couch. They’re in Stiles’ house and Derek seems oddly comfortable in it. Ari wonders what his relationship is to Stiles.

“I know the reality of life. I know Peter. The fire changed him. He can never be the same.”

“I’m not saying he can,” Ari says softly. “But he can be functional. What he did was wrong and he’s been suffering for it every moment of his life since. You can’t tell me he’s not, Derek, I _saw_ his mind. You can’t just _split_ someone’s psyche in half, there has to be some sort of trauma involved. He remembers what he’s done. _Everything_ he’s done.”

“Remembering and atoning are two different things,” Derek argues. “Why does it matter if he remembers killing Laura? None of it matters if he doesn’t change!”

“How is he supposed to atone? How, Derek? What can he do that will make you happy? There is no one thing to do! There is no one action and until you realize that, there is no way _either_ of you will be able to heal.”

“I don’t know if you’re right. And even if you are, I don’t know if healing him is possible.”

“You won’t know until you try.”

Derek turns away and Ari begins to wonder if she can get through to him, if _anything_ she says can ever change anyone’s mind. She hears Derek inhale and her heart jumps at the thought that he’s about to speak, maybe accept her help, and then Stiles’ phone rings.

“It’s Deaton.”

 

* * *

 

Stiles is groggy as he stumbles into the Clinic, following Ari closely. Derek is by his side, oddly hesitant to get too close. Stiles wonders if Derek’s actions at the library were a fluke, some kind of accidental emotion spilled out in the heat of the moment.

“Good to see you’re still alive,” Deaton addresses Stiles as they enter.

“That’s one word for it,” Stiles winces, rubbing his raw throat.

“Well, the good news is that I received your message _before_ the attack- and I was in town.”

“I’m glad you were close, but what does that matter?” Stiles asks, confused.

_Am I still too tired to figure out what he’s getting at?_

“I didn’t realize you were back in town,” Deaton says to Derek, dodging the question.

Derek ducks his head and Stiles swears the man’s face flushes ever so slightly.

“…I wasn’t exactly planning to come back,” Derek admits, glancing at Stiles before quickly looking away.

 _Is he avoiding looking at me?_ Stiles wonders. He isn’t sure whether to feel offended or excited.

“Oh?” Deaton asks. He lets the word hang in the air, watching the werewolf expectantly.

“…Stiles called me,” Derek mumbles.

Stiles blinks.

“No I didn’t,” he denies immediately. _Wait, is he-?_ “I mean-,” he tries to recover, looking to Derek for assistance.

Derek is instead looking at Stiles with a mixture of hurt, disbelief and confusion. The hurricane of emotion sends Stiles headfirst into a pit of despair.

 _Just when we were getting somewhere_.

“What did he say, specifically?” Deaton asks.

Derek opens his mouth and shuts it again, shaking his head. He glances at Stiles again.

“He sounded hurt. Said something about ‘it’ coming and…that was it,” Derek finishes.

He sounds like he’s leaving something out. Something important. Stiles thinks that maybe it has something to do with the way Derek was hurt when Stiles denied the call. _What does he think I said?_

“It’s the Tall Man,” Deaton explains, opening one of the books he has laid out on the examining table. “One thing associated with the Tall Man is time issues. Jumping or losing time is common.”

“What _is_ a Tall Man?” Stiles bites his lip, leaning in.

“Not _a_. _The_ ,” Deaton corrects, sliding the book around.

Stiles tries not to shudder at the nightmare images in the book. There are different ones, some vaguely demonic in appearance and others simplistic. He feels a chill run down his spine when he sees a particular illustration of a stretched-out human form with dark spaces where its features belong.

“The Tall Man,” Ari murmurs. “Fear Dubh.”

“Unfortunately there’s little concrete documentation of the Tall Man,” Deaton says. “We know that it has several incarnations throughout the world, in different languages. The Tall Man- Fear Dubh- comes specifically from Irish folklore.”

“Irish,” Stiles nods. “The name means “black man”, though, doesn’t it?”

“It does,” Deaton says, eyes sparkling. Stiles had forgotten about the man’s excitement over knowledge. “Folklore isn’t straightforward, though. It evolves. With badly documented stories, sometimes things become intertwined.”

“So what _is_ it?” Derek asks. Stiles wants to laugh- he can almost hear the old notes of hostility and annoyance in the man’s voice.

“Fear Dubh was a devil-like figure. It evolved, or was related to, a bogeyman character. Eventually, it became associated with other worldwide folklore and mythology.”

“From what I’ve seen, the Tall Man has a few characteristic traits,” Ari supplies, glancing at Deaton. “Time can be warped around it. It also seems to incapacitate its victims, usually through sleeplessness or illness. More importantly, though, it can latch onto anyone a witness comes into extended contact with.”

“That’s why you wanted me to stay away from Deaton,” Stiles says quietly.

“It was a nice thought,” Deaton says calmly, “But unlikely to help. I’ve already seen it.”

“How could you have seen it?” Ari murmurs, looking back down at the book. “Stiles was the only one-,”

“Unless he wasn’t,” Deaton suggests. “He may have seen the Tall Man, but I think it’s obvious that he wasn’t the first. Whoever saw it is someone we’ve both had contact with. Either that, or it isn’t playing by the rules.”

“How do we stop it if it can knock us out?” Derek asks. “And what does it _want_?”

“That’s the real problem here,” Deaton sighs. “We don’t really know what it wants. This thing is a myth that’s evolved- it’s the monster under the bed. It’s changed over time and we can’t be certain that it’s still playing by the same rules or for the same reasons.”

“We can’t even communicate with it, can we?” Stiles asks.

“Not that I know of,” Deaton says, glancing at Ari.

“If it’s sentient,” Ari tries, “then maybe it’s trying to evolve again. If it’s been growing over the years, we can assume that by now it’s at least self-aware. Maybe the point isn’t what it wants from us; it’s what it wants for _itself_.”

“Well, unless you have any other living legends to ask, that’s going to be hard to determine,” Stiles says drily.

“Maybe,” Ari says.

“We need to take this one step at a time,” Deaton says calmly. “For now, don’t ever be alone. It may not work, but at least being in pairs will give us a better chance of having help with it. It’s only attacked Stiles so far and only ever when he’s been alone.”

“Okay,” Derek starts, nodding. “We’re going to need to find out if we can lure it out next. Maybe we can find out if any Packs or Hunters have dealt with this thing recently. If they have, we’ll be one step closer to figuring out what it wants.”

“How do we get a message out if time’s being affected?” Ari points out.

“We try,” Stiles says, rubbing his tired eyes. “We try and see what happens.”

 

* * *

 

“Hey,” Stiles says, hesitant.

“Hey, kid,” John says. His smile is tired. Stiles thinks his father is tired more often than not these days.

“I’m sorry,” they both say at the same time and Stiles smiles, ducking his head.

“You were right,” Stiles says quietly. “I haven’t been able to trust anyone- not since the nogitsune took over. I couldn’t even trust myself then.”

“Hey,” John says, stepping closer. His hand is firm on Stiles’ shoulder. “That’s not your fault.”

“Wasn’t it?” Stiles asks. “We went chasing after a criminal, dad- I went with Kira, she was a _freshman_. It wasn’t the first time I’ve been involved in a stupid plan, either.”

“No. And it won’t be the last,” John says patiently. “You keep forgetting you’re a _kid_. All of you are. Just because you do stupid things with them doesn’t mean they’re your fault. Do you think they would stop if you weren’t around?”

“I think none of this would have happened.”

John seems to realize what Stiles is saying and he looks sad for a minute, as if expected this.

“Did you bite Scott?”

“I led him into the woods.”

“Did you drag him there in chains?”

“I was his _friend_. I may as well have.”

“You know, if it hadn’t been Scott, who do you think it would have been?”

“…I don’t know,” Stiles says, frustrated. “Just because it could have been anyone doesn’t make it okay that it was Scott.”

“That’s what the other guy would have said, too,” John points out. “I’m not saying you two were lucky to have been the ones Peter found. You weren’t. But you both have the support of your family and friends. And remember, _Peter_ is the one who bit Scott. He had a part in this, too.”

“Then why am I still so guilty?” Stiles asks, swallowing hard. He doesn’t want to feel bad about everything anymore; he _wants_ to move on. He won’t forget. He just wants resolution.

“You’re looking for an answer, kid. There isn’t one. There’s never one answer. You’re just going to have to live with that.”

 

* * *

 

“ _What did you see in his mind_?” Derek asks Ari.

She knew he’d find her number in his phone. _For an adult_ , she thinks, _he does a great job of leaving his personal things vulnerable_.

“He’s hurt,” Ari explains, throat rough with sleep and exhaustion. It’s already ten in the morning but she’d just fallen asleep five hours earlier, hopeful that her spell would keep Peter in check.

“ _Hurt how?_ ”

“The fire damaged him. Half of him wanted revenge but the other half wanted his family back. I think he had trouble coping with both desires and somehow his mind was fractured. You’re already vulnerable to mental issues as werewolves; Peter just completed a break between his human and wolf sides.”

“ _You’re saying his has split personalities,_ ” Derek says. He sounds dubious. “ _We’ve only ever seen one._ ”

“The other personality is there, Derek. It’s probably never dominant, but it informs and affects some of his actions. Has he ever tried to interact with his family differently? Been bloodthirsty in his attempts to protect you? That’s his other side trying to come to the surface.”

Derek is quiet on the other end and Ari shifts to sit up in bed. She can see Peter’s form on the couch from her bedroom doorway. There’s a thin line of dark powder on her bedroom floor. It’s supposed to protect her.

“ _So if he’s split, how do you think you can bring them together? And it won’t even change him completely, will it?_ ”

“It won’t,” Ari agrees, sighing. “But it will balance him. His problem has always been that he’s driven by one thing: revenge. After he was killed, he was resurrected, wasn’t he? He was driven and after he succeeded he was lost. Being a directionless killer is dangerous.”

“ _It was,_ ” Derek agrees darkly. “ _I don’t know if it’s worth trying to help him._ ”

“You can’t even give him a chance?” Ari asks tightly. “I’m not asking you to let him sleep in your bed, Derek. I’m asking you to give him a chance to become a whole human being again.”

The line is silent and for a minute Ari thinks he’ll refuse again. She thinks that maybe she was wrong, maybe Derek doesn’t have hope. Hell, maybe she’s wrong about Peter. Maybe he’s a manipulative liar and he’s not hurt at all.

Maybe she just doesn’t want to believe that he can’t be saved.

“ _Do what you have to. Just don’t let him out._ ”

 

* * *

 

“Hey, Scott. It’s me. Stiles,” he adds unnecessarily, nervous. “I…we lost connection last time. Something’s happening in town. We don’t know what it is- Deaton says it’s the Tall Man- but it’s affecting time. I’m not sure if you’ll get this. If you do, I need you to call me back. Immediately. Tell me you got my message.”

Stiles pauses, biting his lip.

“Listen. I’m sorry. I know we haven’t been talking like we used to. Like we should be. I think we need to, when you get back. Liam, too. If we’re going to make this work- if we’re going to be a Pack- we have to _talk_. We need everyone to understand what it means to be a Pack.”

Stiles nods, looking down at his phone as he ends the call. He hopes Scott gets the message.

 

* * *

 

"I'm going to help you," Ari says.

"You're going to _try_ ," Peter manages, teeth biting a grimace on his face. He's sweating from the exertion of keeping himself under control. Ari knows her spell can only do half the work.

"I _will_ ," she hisses, threading a chain around one of the pillars in the bank.

It's one in the morning and she's chaining Peter up in the abandoned bank. She's not sure if she's doing the right thing but she'll be damned if she doesn't try.

"What are you going to do?" Peter manages to ask, shaking his head as if warding off smoke.

"I'm going to heal you."

"... _how_ ," Peter growls. Ari can see an inhuman light blinking behind his eyes. She steels herself, walking to face him. Her duffel bag lies on the floor, open and ready.

"I store my energy in these crystals," she starts, pulling a large quartz crystal from the bag. It's flat on one end, the natural stone rough as it rises in the air.

 _Quartz, citrine, bloodstone,_ she recites in her head, placing the stones around Peter. Quartz for east and west, Citrine for south, Bloodstone for north.

"The energy built up in the crystals can be used later for spells- and healing. Healing is what I do best," she says, pulling a bright metal chain out of the bag. It's thin and long, the fine links glinting in the night.

At the end of the chain is a small Aragonite crystal. The stone is caramel and dark brown, spotted and banded. _Flexibility and tolerance,_ she thinks. _God, I hope this works._

"So these stones are supposed to save me?" Peter laughs humorlessly.

Ari looks him in the eyes, smiling.

"Only if we believe they can."

He's quiet for a minute and she thinks that maybe he's too broken, maybe he won't believe or try. He looks down at the Aragonite, though, and she thinks she sees a flicker of uncertainty.

"I've seen stranger things," he murmurs.

"You and me both," Ari promises him, swing the the Aragonite gently on the chain between her fingers. She closes her eyes, tuning out the world. _Focus, Ari. Focus._

 _I'm going to heal you, Peter. Just wait,_ she thinks and then she steps forward and wraps the chain quickly around his head, pulling it tight so that the Aragonite rests on his forehead.

" **Find your balance,** " Ari says lowly, feeling the Aragonite begin to burn her fingers. Peter tries to twist in her grasp. In the back of her head she hears the chains creak in protest. " **Find it, Peter.** "

Ari can feel the stone burning its way into her body and as she focuses on the energy, somewhere in the distance Peter screams.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are picking up. Stiles is going to have to decide what to do about the Pack and Ari's going to have to deal with Peter, however /that/ turns out. At least things are starting to change, though...thanks in part to Derek's reminder. Maybe he'll have more useful information for Stiles in the future...


	12. Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ari isn't sure yet whether healing Peter was a good idea. There's no time to wonder, though, because Deaton has a few theories that may help the group take another step. Meanwhile Stiles grapples with the reality of Derek being back and what their relationship might be. When the Tall Man makes another appearance, both Ari and Stiles get opportunities to test the new waters they've found themselves in.

“We’re nowhere close to knowing what we need to,” Stiles murmurs into his coffee cup.

“You can’t help that,” Deaton says patiently.

It’s been two days since Stiles last saw the Tall Man and his research is going nowhere. Without Chris’ knowledge- without the Hunters’ archives- there’s almost no way to move forward. It’s frustrating to say the least and Stiles has been feeling like the world must be having one giant laugh because now that he’s finally decided to _talk_ about everything, there’s no way _to_ talk.

Irony.

That and Derek’s back. Except Stiles _still_ isn’t sure that he is. Not that he doubts if Derek is real- he’s pretty damn sure the man is. No, what’s frustrating is that Derek is just as absent as he’s always been.

Stiles isn’t sure what he expected. He thinks maybe ‘ _Isn’t that what you taught me_ ’ should have been some kind of indicator, some kind of revelation that meant Derek was not just Sourwolf anymore. That he’d grown. Maybe it’s hypocritical to expect growth, though, given that Stiles has only just stopped deciding to take everything on himself.

“The answers aren’t in your cup,” Deaton says kindly, moving the mug away.

Stiles sighs, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes.

“No. If only it were that easy.”

It’s one in the morning and Stiles feels like he’s at the world’s utter end.

 

* * *

 

“That was a stupid choice you made,” Peter says.

His voice is rough. It sounds as if he’s been screaming for days, Ari thinks. It’s only really been hours.

“I don’t believe that.”

“Just because you don’t believe doesn’t mean it isn’t true.”

“…you remind me of someone,” Ari says, a tired smile trying and failing to stay on her lips.

She thinks that maybe the reason she wanted to save Peter was because of Stiles. Because she is selfish at heart. Because she sees their common threads, the sarcasm and the wit covering up hidden scars that are stark white against their skin and their souls. She thinks they are all the same, maybe, different versions of a shared template. The wounded, the broken, the shattered.

_We make a pretty fucked up timeline,_ Ari thinks.

“Someone you couldn’t save before,” Peter says. Factually. Resigned.

“That’s not why I helped you,” Ari says.

“You don’t even believe that.”

“I _believe_ you’re an asshole,” Ari says sharply, biting her tongue hard enough to taste blood. “Sorry. I’m tired.”

Peter watches from a distance, bruises already disappearing around his wrists. His hair is disheveled, sweaty and plastered to his forehead. His eyes, though, look clear.

“Blue,” Ari murmurs.

“What?”

_Oh, god,_ she thinks, fighting the urge to knock him out with a crystal. _Go on, try and explain without sounding like a thirteen-year-old girl. Try it._

“…your eyes are blue,” Ari explains, proud of the way her voice doesn’t change. _I knew I could have been an actor._

Peter stares.

“I couldn’t tell, before. They were…clouded,” she explains, shaking her head as she pulls herself off the floor.

Her head is sore from where it’s been resting against a concrete pillar. When she stands, her right ankle twinges, the memory of an old injury calling to her. She ignores it, walking over to a pillar where Peter’s chains are wrapped.

“…you’re letting me go,” he says, tense.

“No. Not go. You’re staying with me,” Ari says, breathing evenly. _Zen. I can keep my heartbeat steady, my breathing calm._ _I can do it._

“You think that’s a good idea?”

“You seem to be laboring under the impression that there are _good_ ideas where supernatural creatures are concerned,” Ari says drily.

She’s tired and Peter is not making things easy. She should have guessed, though, considering he’s a Hale.

_Hale,_ Ari thinks, feeling the sting hit her somewhere deep in her chest. _No. Stop. Thinking makes it worse._

Peter either doesn’t notice the stitch in her breathing or he’s polite enough to pretend it isn’t there. She’s not sure if either is believable.

“Maybe that’s true,” Peter says quietly.

_I have my work cut out for me._

 

* * *

 

“Where are you?” Stiles asks, tense.

He glances over his shoulder to see Derek, leaning against one of Deaton’s shelves as if he’s always been there.

“ _On my way,_ ” Ari says, agitated. Her voice is thin through the phone. “ _Put me on speaker._ ”

“Why?” Stiles mutters, but he complies.

“ _I need you to listen,_ ” Ari says. She sounds firm- almost like before, when she told Stiles he wasn’t a monster. “ _I’m coming. When I get there, I expect you to be **restrained**. There are reasons and explanations and thousands of things I can talk to you about, but right now we don’t have time. I’ll talk when I get there._ ”

The line goes dead almost instantly and Stiles stares at the phone in his hand, half expecting it to grow legs and start walking away.

“What was that about?”

As he turns, Stiles catches Derek’s eye. The man seems as if he’s about to look away for a second but he doesn’t, instead meeting Stiles’ gaze. _Okay. This is weird._

“Where’s Ari?” Deaton asks and Stiles has to fight the instinct to jump as the man enters the room.

“On her way. She said to be ‘restrained’,” Stiles adds, rubbing his forehead. It feels like his eyebrows are glued an inch above where they should naturally sit.

“Hm,” Deaton acknowledges. Stiles can see the gears turning in the man’s head.

“Please tell me you have something. Anything,” Stiles tries, watching Deaton open a few books onto the metal table before them.

“I have no new information,” Deaton reminds Stiles. “Only theories. Even they may be wrong, though.”

“We won’t get anywhere if we don’t _do_ something,” Stiles points out.

“Maybe not. I’m just not sure how much you are all willing to do, considering that we don’t have enough information. It’s unwise to proceed, I think-,”

“Maybe you do,” Stiles interrupts, looking over the books. “But we won’t decide that until we know what you think about this…creature.”

Stiles hears the door open in the distance and he barely registers it, looking over a scrawled note.

“Someone’s with her,” Derek says suddenly, shifting off the cabinet.

Before Stiles can answer, he sees Ari round the corner with a figure close behind.

It’s Peter.

Stiles can feel a hundred emotions at once. Fear, anger, sadness, betrayal. What he doesn’t feel is the spirit from before. That alone gives him pause.

“You said you wouldn’t let him out,” Derek says and Stiles can hear the rough edges of control in the man’s voice. He tries to shift closer, hoping to both calm the man and have some form of protection.

“I didn’t,” Ari says simply. “But I did promise to help him.”

“What are you going to do?” Derek asks, claws suddenly appearing as he growls his question, moving in front of Stiles.

Stiles thinks he can hear his own heartbeat. He experiences a moment of terror when he realizes that Peter can probably hear it, too. _Derek may be able to take Peter, but I can’t take Ari. Not with my power somehow gone._

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Ari says tiredly. Stiles notices for the first time that she looks as if she hasn’t slept in a week. “I’m not going to _betray_ you. I helped him, Derek. He’s not perfect, but he’s whole- and you don’t have to worry about him. I have him…on a leash, as it were.”

“Woof,” Peter says.

It’s the first time the man has spoken. Stiles notices that he sounds hoarse. Tired. Ari and Peter _both_ look tired. Like they’ve been through the wringer, twice.

“I still don’t trust him,” Derek says. He sounds as if he hates to say it, Stiles thinks, but his claws disappear and he rises from his defensive stance. He doesn’t relax, though.

“That makes two of us,” Deaton says testily.

Stiles had almost forgotten about the vet.

“Well, _you_ don’t have to,” Ari snaps.

Derek glares.

“I think we’re missing the point here,” Stiles slides in, cautiously stepping out of Derek’s shadow.

Derek, strangely enough, makes an odd noise in the back of his throat, a hand reaching out as if to push Stiles back. He stops, though, and Stiles is left staring at Derek as the man tries to look anywhere else.

“…we have something coming after us,” Stiles manages, picking up the threads of his halted train of thought.

“We do,” Deaton says. “I have theories but there’s not much more to offer.”

“I told Peter about it,” Ari begins, ignoring the look Derek shoots her. “He told me most of what you did, but…tell me your theories.”

“You remember that I said it was a bogeyman figure,” Deaton says. It’s not a question. “Well, as such, it’s safe to assume that most accounts and stories feature children. I’m not sure if there’s an age range but we know that sometimes children have seen the Tall Man and remembered it in adulthood.”

“So at least it doesn’t kill. Or kill _all_ of its victims, at least,” Stiles adds.

“No,” Ari murmurs. “I don’t think it would.”

“We know it causes illness and time issues,” Deaton reminds them. “Illness obviously helps to incapacitate a victim. Time, however…”

“Time could mean that it works to isolate its victims,” Derek supplies, glancing at Stiles.

“Maybe not just isolate,” Ari realizes. “Think. It’s children we’re talking about, right? If the victims are children, what could altering time do?”

“I’m not sure where you’re going with this,” Stiles says drily.

“It’s a bogeyman,” Peter says mildly. “When does the bogeyman come to get you?”

“…at night,” Stiles whispers.

“It’s late at night. You start feeling sick, or weak. Time seems to stretch and drag on forever. You feel alone and scared,” Ari lists, biting her lip.

“For a child, that’s terrifying,” Derek says quietly.

“So it paralyzes children. Scares them. Why? Does it feed off of fear?”

“Have children been taken?” Stiles asks.

“I’m not sure,” Deaton says.

“We can’t get far if we don’t know more,” Stiles repeats, frustrated. “It doesn’t matter if it takes children or wants to scare them. Besides which, why would it focus on children if we both saw it? Deaton, you saw it too.”

“You’re technically a child,” Ari points out. “We said this thing evolved, right? It… _endured_ , somehow, probably morphing with time and cultural changes. It may not play by the same rules it did in the eleventh century. Anyways, it’s supposed to be able to affect those close to the victim, right? That would explain Deaton.”

“But not much else,” Derek sighs. “What we should really know is who this started with. Why and how.”

“Right. How? Do we put out posters saying, ‘have you seen this bogeyman lately’?” Ari snorts.

“We find a way,” Derek says firmly. “There’s always a way.”

“When did you become an optimist?” Peter asks.

Derek shoots his uncle a look, something filled with distrust and anger and caution. Stiles tries to step closer, nervous but sure. _I wonder how long he’s been without a Pack. By himself. He used to have a family, once. A big one._

He remembers his mother’s death and how much it had hurt. _When you have less to lose, the loss hurts more. Or maybe it all hurts the same. What do I know?_

 

* * *

 

“This is a bad idea,” Ari says, sighing.

“I’m rubbing off on you.”

Ari looks back at Peter, staring. He seems better- she thinks they both do, since they’ve had sleep. Peter is…strange, though. Not quite what she expected. He seems more like his human side from before- sarcastic, some vague kind of self-hate floating to the surface of his words. It doesn’t control him, though. She wonders if that’s the wolf in him.

She also wonders what kind of agreement his wolf and human side have come to.

“Purposely baiting this thing without any plan for when it shows up seems like the shittiest idea ever,” Ari says tersely, “and I don’t have to be a half-werewolf psycho to know that.”

“I would appreciate it if you didn’t use that term,” Peter says lowly.

“I’m sure you would,” Ari mutters, scratching her arm.

She’s not sure what to think of Peter. She’s not sure _if_ she should be thinking about him. Werewolves can sense things, she knows- vague emotions and such. Peter is an unknown, just like the Tall Man.

“I don’t see anything,” Ari sighs.

They’re sitting outside the library, watching the exterior as Stiles and Derek research inside. _The last time it showed up, we were trying to research about it,_ Stiles had said. _That’s the only thing I can think to do._

_Yeah_ , Ari thinks, _but we’ve researched plenty without it showing up._

“Maybe it’s not coming in,” Peter supplies.

Something clicks in Ari’s head.

“ _Fuck_ ,” she curses, leaping out of the car. “Come _on_!”

 

* * *

 

“This is not one of my best plans,” Stiles says nervously as he enters the library.

Part of the nerves come from their bait. Part come from Derek.

The man has been relatively quiet and it’s starting to bug Stiles. He thinks that maybe he needs to put things back where they were before Derek left, gauge what they are now by his reactions. Also not one of his best plans, but.

“When have you made plans?”

It’s not mean-spirited or sarcastic. It’s an actual question and it catches Stiles off guard.

“Oh, I don’t know…when Scott was first bitten, when the kanima showed up to party…in Mexico,” Stiles adds. That’s one of his favorites.

“Mexico?” Derek echoes.

_Shit._

“Yeah. Um…Scott almost kicked my ass when I held him back so we could plan. He thought- I mean…I guess I didn’t look eager enough,” Stiles amends, avoiding eye contact.

_Honestly, all I wanted to do was run there and tear the place up._ Stiles had only really kept somewhat calm because of Lydia. One look from her after the news had arrived and Stiles had taken a deep breath, reminding himself that losing his cool over Derek was _not_ cool.

“That was you?”

“Well, don’t sound so surprised,” Stiles says, irked.

“I just…I guess I assumed it was Scott,” Derek explains.

“Yeah,” Stiles sighs. “He’s fond of making plans. Working with people without telling others- without telling me. The thing is, I _trusted_ him. I may not have liked it but I tried to tell myself he knew what he was doing.”

“You think he didn’t?”

“I know he didn’t, Derek. But neither did I. We were kids. Still kind of are,” Stiles laughs humorlessly. “That’s why we have to _talk_. I mean, have you ever _seen_ a teen movie? About ninety percent of the shit they go through could have been avoided if they just _talked._ Wish I remembered that,” he adds quietly.

Derek opens his mouth as if he’s about to speak and then Stiles feels his vision blur. He holds up a hand, shaking his head.

“Something’s wrong,” he murmurs, hearing his own words float around him. It’s as if he’s submerged in a pool.

“Stiles? What’s wrong-,” Derek starts, coming closer.

He sees it then, standing in the corner.

“There, _there_ -,” Stiles manages, pouring all the urgency he can into his voice.

Derek steps in front of Stiles, growling, and Stiles feels the beginnings of panic bleeding into his consciousness. Before he can move, the doors behind him slam open.

 

* * *

 

“ _Go!_ ” Ari commands unthinkingly, watching as Peter leaps forward.

Later, she will wonder that Peter acted on her command.

“Stay back,” Stiles warns Ari. He’s leaning against a bookcase, pale.

“At least you’re still conscious,” Ari manages, fairly winded from sprinting.

“Yeah, I don’t know why,” Stiles says drily. There’s panic in his voice.

Ari twists her crystal ring, anxious.

“Your citrine?”

Stiles shakes his head.

_What’s going on?_

“Wait-,” Derek is yelling but Peter ignores him, leaping towards the creature.

Stiles cries out, hitting his knees as he holds his head. Ari can see his face turning red- with pain, or maybe something else. _Damn it._

Peter lunges right _through_ the Tall Man.

“We need to leave! _Now_!” Ari yells, pulling Stiles to his feet.

When Derek turns, she notices the fear and worry in his eyes. She passes Stiles to him, letting the man guide him out.

“Peter,” Ari calls, pulling another crystal on a chain from her jacket pocket.

Peter seems to ignore her. She can see the red in his eyes.

Not a werewolf color. A killer’s color.

The Tall Man moves and Ari feels her heart jump into her throat. It reaches for Peter and she breaks.

“ ** _Now_** _,_ ” Ari commands and Peter reels back, eyes wide. She knows he can feel the power in her voice.

When he leaves with her, she can feel him fighting the command. She keeps a hold on it, though, pouring energy into the charm. She won’t let go until they get to the apartment.

Outside, Stiles is leaning against Derek’s car.

“You’re still upright,” Ari notes.

“Yeah,” Stiles coughs. He spits blood onto the pavement and Derek growls.

“Get him home,” Ari tells Derek. “Stay put and take this.”

Derek looks down at the crystal in his hand, raising an eyebrow.

“Trust her,” Stiles says, spitting a few drops of blood out of his mouth. “It’s worth it.”

Ari watches them go, still tense. Beside her, Peter is growling low in his chest.

“I know. Hopefully you don’t kill me,” she murmurs, glancing at the man before getting in the car.

 

* * *

 

“That was definitely a bad idea,” Stiles groans, lifting himself painfully out of his seat.

Derek hovers near the car door, looking like he wants to help but isn’t sure if he should. It’s endearing and very _not_ Derek.

“Come on, sourwolf,” Stiles huffs. “I think hot chocolate is in order.”

He doesn’t think he’s hallucinating when Derek smiles.

“Sit,” the man says when they get inside.

“Yessir.”

Derek seems to be oddly familiar around the house, easily locating a saucepan and the hot chocolate in the pantry.

“You been creepin’ around my house?” Stiles teases. He can see Derek’s ears turning red. “Oh my god-,”

“No,” Derek insists. “I just...before. When you were…,”

“Possessed,” Stiles finishes, realizing.

“I watched you, sometimes. Tried to keep an eye on you. Before, when you were having bad dreams.”

“Why?”

It’s quiet for a minute and Stiles thinks he can hear their breathing, the beating of their hearts.

“You didn’t have anyone,” Derek says quietly.

“I did,” Stiles argues but there’s a lump in his throat.

Derek watches the saucepan heat up, eyes focused on nothing in particular.

“Your father was usually working. Scott and Allison were going through the same thing, but…you didn’t talk to each other. You kept it to yourselves.”

“Yeah. Bad habit,” Stiles smiles weakly.

“I know. It was mine, too.”

Stiles watches Derek pour the hot chocolate and he smiles, thinking about the Pack. When they were young. Still together. _Alive_.

“Why me? Why not Scott?”

Derek looks like he wants to say something and Stiles watches him, waiting. _He could do what he always did. Not answer. Or…_

“I was more worried about you,” Derek says slowly. He passes a mug to Stiles.

“Because I was human? Weak?”

“No,” Derek says firmly. “No. I knew you were strong. I was just…afraid.”

“Afraid?”

“I was scared of what might happen. In a Pack, you know, we offer support. The bonds we have help heal. It’s an emotional link- but we also… _physically_ stay close. We hug. Offer a shoulder.”

Derek’s smiling again, Stiles notices. It’s a nice smile.

“You lost that, didn’t you?” Stiles asks quietly. “Being close to a Pack.”

Derek glances at Stiles. He isn’t angry. Not anymore, Stiles thinks. It’s like he’s grown. Matured into someone confident. Scarred but not hurt. Not as damaged.

“I did. I watched you because…I guess I saw myself in you.”

For some reason, Stiles remembers something he’s heard before.

_Love is narcissistic, isn't it?  
_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was gone for the weekend, so I apologize for the wait. Anyways, I know it's been an obscure start with this arc but in the upcoming sections, things will start to come together. There's Peter and his 'leash', communication with the Pack and the Tall Man's purpose to learn about. Hopefully the answers will bring everyone closure on Stiles' growth and Derek's new attitude.


	13. Nothing to Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ari and Peter have a long overdue confrontation. The team come to a decision about contacting Scott and one of the group leaves. When the Tall Man abducts someone, the group must decide who to send after them. With the possible victim identified, it seems like there might be a way to stop the attacks.

Ari stands before Peter, tense and ready.

_Time to drop the charm._

As soon as the magic dissolves, Peter roars and lunges.

Ari sidesteps, the silver chain in her hands taught. Peter’s eyes glow as he watches her from a corner.

She notices that his claws aren’t out, though. _Interesting_.

When he lunges again, she lets him push her into the wall. His hand is tense against her neck but she doesn’t lift her chin. _Never the throat._

“You do not control me,” Peter growls. His claws barely edge out, pricking her skin.

“I _do_ ,” Ari replies icily. She remembers Theo, remembers her family dead and channels the cold precision of someone dangerous.

_I could be someone more powerful than me._

“Is _this_ in your control?” Peter laughs roughly, raising her ever so slightly off the ground. The pressure on her neck increases.

“It is,” Ari says calmly. She moves her fingers, watching the near-invisible wire threaded around Peter’s neck tighten.

Peter’s eyes widen and then narrow, gleaming as he experimentally tilts his head.

“I could have killed you by now,” Peter says silkily.

“I could have killed you at Eichen,” Ari laughs darkly. “When I had you chained up. When I gave you the command at the library. _I can still do it._ ”

There’s something in the pull of power, she thinks distantly. Something in the idea that she _could_ do it that makes her feel strong. _I’m just as fucked up as he is,_ she thinks. _I just make less of a show doing it._

Somehow she thinks Peter comes to the same conclusion. He releases her, smiling with his teeth. His eyes aren’t glowing anymore. They’re blue again, blue as the sky but far more dangerous.

“Maybe you can earn control,” Peter chuckles. “Maybe I’ll let you.”

 

* * *

 

“I’m done researching,” Ari announces.

Stiles looks at her. She seems different, he thinks. Not as worried. Not as quiet.

“I think we all are,” Stiles sighs. “But what now?”

“I think we can assume that fear plays a part in this,” Ari notes. “You were scared, Stiles- but I think you were more scared for Derek than yourself.”

Stiles hopes he isn’t turning red.

“Maybe. You think that its power is greater when we’re scared?”

“You were alone at the library. Worried. Scared. This time you had Derek and me. I think maybe it loses its power to paralyze when its victim fights back. Peter wasn’t even affected.”

“That may be true,” Derek notes. “But what does that help? We still can’t touch it, if Peter’s attack was anything to go by.”

“Do you think it’ll leave if it doesn’t get the fear it needs from us?” Stiles wonders.

“If it needed _fear_ , maybe,” Ari reminds him. “But we don’t know that it needs fear.”

“I hate to suggest this,” Deaton interjects, “but maybe you should try and contact the rest of the Pack. In person.”

“What if we can’t get back once we leave?” Stiles asks.

“I think you have to take that chance,” Deaton says. “We don’t know who first saw this thing, but whoever it is must be the one keeping it here. If the Tall Man needs fear, then maybe someone else is still giving it.”

“It’s affected us, but we’re all just related to the real victim,” Stiles realizes. “You think it’s one of the others.”

“I think that Scott, Liam, Parrish, and Lydia are the only ones we have in common.”

“So who do we send?” Ari asks quietly.

“Derek,” Stiles says. He hates to say it and he doesn’t want Derek to leave but he knows he’s right.

“Stiles, I-,”

“Ari has to stay with Peter. I could go, but it’s already attacked me three times. I may not make it out of town.”

“Are you sure?” Ari asks. “You can stay with me until he gets back.”

“No,” Stiles says calmly. “I need to face it if it comes back. I can at least figure out if it feeds on fear.”

“That sounds like a great idea,” Peter says.

Ari rolls her eyes but she’s smiling. Stiles wonders what’s going on between them.

 

* * *

 

“Be careful,” Derek says.

“You too,” Stiles manages, trying to be quiet. He knows Ari’s already left but Deaton is still inside the clinic. _He may be human but he’s still weirdly psychic_.

“I meant it. When I said I was more worried about you.”

Stiles nods. Derek stares at him. There’s something in the man’s expression- it’s like he’s searching. Stiles doesn’t know what he wants and he doesn’t know what to say.

“Come back,” Stiles says quietly, trying and failing to smile.

 

* * *

 

Derek punches his steering wheel for what seems like the thirtieth time.

_Come back_.

He shouldn’t feel guilty. He had no responsibility, no duty to Stiles when he’d left. If anything he’d had more of a connection to Scott.

That’s not entirely true, though.

He vaguely remembers being back from Mexico. Being young. He hadn’t remembered anything at first, only knowing that something had happened and he’d ended up at the school, fighting with Scott.

Later he had remembered being with Stiles. He remembered being eye to eye, Stiles’ sarcasm, being called ‘a cousin’. He remembered being annoyed by the title, not because he didn’t like Stiles but for some other reason. Some reason he hadn’t entirely realized until he was bleeding out on the sand.

When he was young, he had been more exposed. His emotions and instincts had been closer to the surface, raw and sensitive.

He had _liked_ Stiles.

It was more than just liking, though. It was attraction. It was strange and confusing, what with Kate fresh in his memory, but it had been there. He had liked needling Stiles. He’d enjoyed Stiles’ sarcasm, his expressiveness, his willingness to protect.

He was everything that Kate wasn’t. Everything Derek hadn’t realized he’d wanted.

Maybe he didn’t have a duty to Stiles. But he had a duty to himself. To his own heart.

“Damn it.”

 

* * *

 

“You’re more dangerous than you look.”

“Glad you noticed,” Ari replies, ignoring Peter in favor of her lunch.

_How long has it been since I’ve had macaroni?_

“Why do you pretend? You acted for Stiles too, didn’t you?”

Ari sighs through her nose, looking down at her food.

“What does it matter to you?”

“It doesn’t. I’m intrigued, though.”

“Of course you are,” Ari mutters.

“So why? You think it puts you at an advantage?”

“I know it does,” Ari says, giving in. _I could talk. May as well be the Creeper._ “I was involved with someone dangerous before. In another town. I thought we could be friends- a beneficial relationship, you know. He would protect me and I would help him. I didn’t care about what he did. I didn’t know what it was he was planning.”

“He played you,” Peter says slowly, a smirk rising to his lips.

“No. I knew what I was getting into. He betrayed me.”

“How is that different?”

“We had an agreement,” Ari says stonily. “He wanted me to do something for him and I did- but it was a trick. He sacrificed a gain on his part to kill my family. Instead of helping me get information, he went to my house. He thought killing them would chain me to him.”

“That doesn’t seem smart.”

“It wasn’t,” Ari smirks. “I overestimated him. I thought he would recognize the benefits of our partnership. Realize that as long as he never fucked with me I’d never fuck with him. He didn’t.”

“So you killed him,” Peter says.

“No. I followed him. Watched his plans unfold. Waited to cut him down when he thought he was succeeding. Funny thing is he was never close. I got bored.”

“So where is he now?”

“With some Hunters. I made a decision. Traded new allies for his capture.”

“No revenge, then,” Peter says mildly. His eyes are sharp.

Ari turns to him, leaning back into the arm of the couch. He’s sitting on the other end, sprawled artistically on the cushion. _Only he could make sprawling look sexy,_ Ari thinks, amused.

“No. Revenge makes you stupid,” Ari notes, watching for a reaction. “Reason makes you strong.”

Peter hums. Ari watches him a minute longer and then starts to eat again.

 

* * *

 

Stiles is almost asleep when he hears it.

His window is cracking.

“What the fuck,” he whispers, rising slowly to look. His bat is cool in his hand.

The Tall Man is standing under a tree by his window.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck,” Stiles chants under his breath, looking down. _At least I’m not passing out_.

As he watches the thing moves back a bit. Stiles thinks he can see something piled by its feet- if it has any. Some kind of dark mass. _What is that_?

Stiles thinks he can see a flash of blue. Eyes. For some reason he immediately thinks _werewolf_ and then _Derek_ and a spike of fear springs into his chest.

The Tall Man moves, Stiles thinks _No_ , and then the world goes dark again.

 

* * *

 

“He left early?”

“Yeah. He came to talk to Hayden but he left because he said he wanted to check on his parents,” Scott says, frowning. “Derek, what’s going on?”

“Did you get a call from Stiles?”

“I had a video call with him last week,” Scott says slowly. “Why?”

“There’s something in town,” Derek explains. “And I think it has Liam.”

 

* * *

 

When Stiles blinks, something heavy falls from his lashes.

_Dirt?_

It’s dark and his eyes take a while to adjust. His mind tries to make sense of his unfamiliar surroundings, playing jigsaw with the dark shapes around him. _A cave?_ There are leaves on the ground, some wet and others crunchy and dry. It smells like earth and Stiles can see roots and moss growing on the walls around him.

When he turns, he freezes. There’s someone else in the cave.

“…Liam?” Stiles whispers, incredulous.

The boy doesn’t move. Stiles crawls over, heart beating hard. _Don’t be dead. Please, don’t be dead._

“Liam,” Stiles whispers harshly, shaking him. “Wake up. Come on, Liam, don’t do this. Wake up.”

When Liam blinks groggily Stiles feels his heart lift. _Oh, god._

“…Stiles?”

“Hey, man. What are you doing here? Are you okay?”

“No,” Liam shakes his head, backing away. His eyes are wide. “It’s not you. It can’t be you.”

Stiles can feel his heart break a little.

“It’s me, Liam. You know me. The sun, the moon, the truth. You know me.”

Liam looks unsure but he relaxes, breathing slowing as he leans against the walls of the cave.

“Why are you here?”

“Why are _you_ here? I thought you were in Mexico,” Stiles says, moving closer. He tries to check for injuries, waiting for Liam to calm down.

“I was. I was…I was worried. I came back.”

“Why were you worried, Liam?”

“I…I _saw_ ,” Liam starts, shaking his head, eyes wide again. “I _saw_ it, before I left, I didn’t-,”

“It’s okay,” Stiles quiets him, tentatively reaching out to touch Liam’s knee. _The bonds we have help heal._

Liam is quiet, eyes watery. Stiles inches closer, careful. _We hug. We offer a shoulder._

“Come on,” Stiles says quietly. He pulls Liam closer, relieved when he returns the hug. “It’s okay. I’m here. You’re fine.”

“What is it?” Liam asks. “Is it even real?”

“It’s just another monster,” Stiles says firmly. “It wants us to be afraid. So we have to be strong.”

“Is everyone else safe?”

“Yes. Derek went to get Scott,” Stiles says. “Ari’s here, too. She has Peter on a leash.”

“That guy?” Liam asks, incredulous.

“Yeah. That’s what I said, too,” Stiles laughs.

He’s beyond glad to see Liam. Somehow, knowing Liam is alive- and real- is a relief. He’s been questioning whether anyone or anything he knows is real lately. Having Liam close by is like getting confirmation that he’s sane.

“It might come back,” Liam says quietly.

“If it does, we’ll be ready.”

 

* * *

 

“He’s not going to be happy.”

“I know,” Ari says, annoyed. “That’s not my problem, though. His unresolved love story is only unresolved because he hasn’t done anything.”

Peter laughs. His laugh isn’t entirely joyous, Ari has noted. It’s more delighted. As if he is above all the petty issues of those around him and he’s happy to see that Ari has no time to care, either.

Or maybe she does care. Maybe she’s just pretending not to and he notices it.

“Well, we know he’ll come here first. Would you rather wait for him or retreat and hope his misplaced anger subsides?”

“He’s already here,” Ari sighs.

“Stiles!”

Derek _and_ Scott, Ari notices. She isn’t sure how to deal with the situation, but she knows the fallout won’t be good.

“He isn’t here,” Ari says as the two reach the door.

“What?”

Derek’s voice is low. Ari can see his muscles tensing. She knows how territorial werewolves can be and how strong their bonds are.

“Where is he?” Scott asks. He at least looks worried.

“You were supposed to protect him,” Derek growls, walking forward.

Peter doesn’t move but Ari can see his eyebrow raise. _Is that a Hale thing?_ Derek reaches Ari, crowding her as if he’s trying to back her into a corner.

“Wrong. _You_ were,” Ari replies sharply.

Derek pushes her back into a wall and Scott makes a noise, calling his friend’s name. Ari ignores him.

“I don’t know who you are or what you want. I don’t know why Stiles trusted you. All I know is that you haven’t been doing much to earn my trust,” Derek hisses.

“This, coming from the man who can’t even tell the person he loves the truth,” Ari laughs harshly. “Back off, Derek. I can be your friend- and you don’t want me as your enemy.”

Derek looks down at the knife she’s digging into his side.

“Stop,” Scott says firmly. “We don’t have time for this.”

Ari raises an eyebrow at Derek. _Your move_. He steps back after a minute, turning his back to her. Ari can see Peter watching her over Derek’s shoulder.

_I wonder what I’ve told him about myself now._

“The Tall Man has Stiles,” Ari says calmly. “I’m assuming he has Liam, too, since he’s not with you.”

“Liam left last week,” Scott explains. “Whatever this thing is, it must have come a while back. Liam seemed on edge during our trip to Mexico. If it feeds off fear, maybe it showed up back when the Beast was around.”

“That makes sense,” Derek agrees. “He probably felt guilty about Mason. Scared, too. He didn’t know if he could get his friend back.”

“Where _is_ Mason?” Ari asks quietly.

“He’s away with family,” Scott says. “He was talking to Liam, too.”

“Well, at least we know they’re together,” Ari says. “Now all we need to do is figure out how to get to them.”

“Bait?” Derek asks.

“We’d need someone to be scared,” Peter says lazily. “Probably even terrified.”

“I can do that,” Ari says calmly.

“How? You aren’t afraid of it,” Derek points out coldly.

“I can do fear,” Ari repeats quietly. She looks at Scott. “I told you Theo killed my family. I got home in time to see it happen.”

 

* * *

 

“You should talk,” Ari says.

“You think that will help?” Derek asks.

Peter is roaming his nephew’s apartment, pretending to ignore their conversation. Ari thinks both she and Derek know he’s listening.

“I think you need to. Whether it helps or not is irrelevant. It needs to be done.”

“…and Stiles liked you,” Derek mutters, shaking his head. _He knows I’m right, though_.

“Maybe I reminded him of someone else,” Ari submits. She’s not in the mood to argue.

_Besides. I could always use more friends._ Behind Derek, Peter smirks.

“Is this safe?” Derek asks.

“Is anything?”

Derek turns away and Peter passes his nephew, winking at him as he returns to Ari.

“Well. That was helpful.”

“It was,” Ari says mildly.

They’re quiet for a minute and Ari finds herself bizarrely missing Peter already. Maybe it’s just because he’s been a constant presence for over a week. Or maybe she actually enjoys his company. She’s not sure which is worse.

“You’re still collared. Don’t do anything stupid,” Ari reminds Peter, gesturing to his neck.

“No,” Peter agrees, watching her with sharp eyes. “And you. Make an effort to come back. Martyrdom is very unattractive.”

“So is self-hate,” Ari replies lightly, knowing her smile is shining through her eyes. She can’t help it.

She takes the opportunity to leave before either of the Hales can say anything else. When she reaches her apartment, she breathes out deeply. _Time to remember,_ she thinks. _Time to break myself._

 

* * *

 

Stiles stays close to Liam while he tries to get his phone to work. It’s dying, though, so he decides to stow it until they can find a way to get a better signal.

“Is there a way out?” Stiles asks.

“No. the end of the tunnel is barred off. The other end has a hatch, but it’s on the ceiling and it’s too far up.”

“I guess this was some sort of mine. Or drainage,” Stiles thinks out loud.

There’s a noise in the distance and Stiles pushes Liam into the shadows, tense. He can _feel_ the shadow surrounding the Tall Man. It’s like smoke from the back of a car, toxic and suffocating. There’s a dull _thump_ and then the creature is gone again.

“Is that someone else?” Liam asks. He sounds a little less afraid.

“Stay here,” Stiles whispers. He inches forward, careful.

It’s Ari.

“Ari,” Stiles exhales, relieved. “What are you doing here?”

She’s the last person he expected to see. When he gets closer, though, he can see her eyes are already open.

They’re unfocused, staring into the distance.

“What’s wrong with her?” Liam asks. “Stiles.”

“I don’t know,” Stiles says, shaking his head. “I…I’m not sure.”

Liam comes forward, ignoring Stiles.

“Wake up,” Liam says, trying to shake Ari. “Hey. Come on.”

“Something’s wrong,” Stiles mutters, watching her. “She’s awake, but…”

The temperature in the tunnel drops again and Stiles curses.

“ _Shit_ \- Liam, help me move her.”

They try to drag Ari but for some reason she seems heavier than usual. Stiles wonders if it’s the Tall Man.

“Come on, come on,” Stiles growls.

“Wake up,” Liam says. There’s frustration in his voice. “Wake _up_!”

A slap echoes in the tunnel.

“ _Liam_!” Stiles hisses, eyes wide. “What was that fo-,”

“Thanks, cutie,” Ari gasps, launching to her feet. “Now get back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt like writing today. So here's another chapter! More development with Ari and her relationship with Peter and some interesting bits about Derek. I like the idea of teenage!Derek/Stiles in S4. It was cute. Anyways, here we invite Scott back and hopefully he and Stiles will talk soon...especially about their friendship. Maybe even Stiles' feelings about 'betrayal' or 'abandonment', which seem irrational and are frustratingly common in the fandom.


	14. Fear Itself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While three of the group are trapped by the Tall Man, the others convene and wait to figure out where their friends are. When things start winding up, an unexpected visitor changes the nature of the encounter.

Derek sits watching his phone, fingers interlaced before his chin.

He’s anxious. He knows that Ari seems capable; she concocted the plan, after all. He just doesn’t know how much capability matters where the Tall Man is concerned.

“You know, she was right. This unrequited mess is your own fault,” Peter says drily from the kitchen.

Peter.

Derek isn’t sure what to think about Peter. The man is exactly what he was before the deadpool incident. Snarky, perceptive, scheming. Derek had always thought that Stiles was a little bit like Peter before the fire. He was human, though.

So very human.

“Now is not the time,” Derek replies shortly.

Peter saunters out of the kitchen with a sandwich. Derek thinks it’s grilled cheese.

“It is. _Ari_ wants us to talk.”

“I couldn’t care less what she wants.”

“No. The problem is, you also don’t care what _you_ want. Funny how perceptive strangers can be.”

Peter sits opposite Derek. Derek stares at his uncle, literally and figuratively on edge.

He doesn’t want to talk to Peter. His uncle is stubborn like a bloodstain. You think it’s gone but it’s always really there, even if it’s just below the surface.

“It’s none of your concern,” Derek says firmly. He wants to believe it’s true.

It’s hard to give trust back to someone who’s already destroyed it twice.

Peter’s eyes are sharp as he stares at Derek, carefully placing his plate on the table. Derek thinks the man looks like he’s about to go to town on his nephew.

“See, that’s where you’re wrong. It _is_ my concern. Regardless of what _you_ think, _I_ know what I feel. Whatever I’ve done before, I can’t ever really make up for it.”

“You’re right. You can’t,” Derek says. “You can’t make up for killing Laura. For starting the deadpool.”

Peter’s jaw tightens and he exhales slowly, looking away for a minute. As if it will give him control.

_He’s never had control._

“I’ll spare you the obvious fact that I wasn’t exactly in my right mind at those times. You don’t seem to care all that much anyways. No- let’s focus on _now._ Now, you’re supposedly a new man but you keep hiding from the same things you did before. I remember _that_.”

“Oh, so you _do_ remember things from when you were insane.”

Peter’s nails dig into the table. Derek knows he’s baiting his uncle but he can’t stop himself. There’s too much emotion invested between them, too many moments, shared history that clings like cobwebs. Derek can never fully forget Peter bringing him lunch at school the same way he can’t forget burying Laura’s body.

“You’re my nephew, so I’m going to give you one last chance to talk civilly,” Peter spits. “I want you to think about this: does Stiles deserve what you’re doing to him? Does he deserve you hanging around, sending him looks you never act on, constantly appearing even when he’s not around? Does he deserve the burden of action you’re putting on him because _you_ can’t take the damn initiative and say something?”

“ _I_ seem to remember my initiative resulting in some pretty shitty relationships,” Derek mutters.

“You’re unbelievable,” Peter snarls. “You think _Stiles_ is going to be another Kate? Give me a break, Derek. I thought you were past this. Was Braeden a Kate, too?”

Derek feels the table creak under the sudden force of his grip.

“Stiles is _not_ Kate.”

“You don’t seem to believe that, though. Or do you think _you’re_ going to be Kate this time?”

When Derek bites his tongue Peter laughs humorlessly, shaking his head as he rises.

“That’s rich. You know, Derek, relationships don’t have to be abuser and abused. You’re never going to get past this unless you learn to stand on equal footing.”

_I know that,_ Derek wants to say. He doesn’t, because Peter is right. Derek’s afraid. He’s afraid of hurting Stiles.

When Peter returns from the kitchen again, he’s twirling an apple in his hand. He sinks the tip of a claw into it, watching the skin peel in a red ribbon.

“You know what hurts more than losing? Never having something in the first place.”

 

* * *

 

Ari can feel the memories whispering at the back of her head. She ignores them, shutting the box like before. The pain is useful sometimes. It won’t be now.

Behind her, Stiles and Liam hide at the edges of the tunnel.

“You’re getting weaker,” Ari mutters, watching the Tall Man stand a few feet away.

It looks almost solid. Ari tilts her head, swinging a crystal on a chain. It sparks with potential and she feels the heat travel up the metal chain, tingling in her fingers.

“Ari,” Stiles whispers harshly. “Get back.”

“No worries,” Ari says lightly, approaching the creature. “I’m not afraid, remember?”

When she gets closer the siren in her ears echoes in a crescendo. She lunges, watching her crystal swing in an arc.

There’s a blast of bright light and she falls to the ground, knees suddenly weak.

“What was that?” Liam asks. She doesn’t remember him moving closer.

“I touched it,” Ari chuckles, breath heaving. She’s suddenly very tired.

“Great. You touched it. Maybe next time we can ride him out of here,” Stiles says, throwing his hands in the air.

Ari snorts.

“Yeah. No. No- I need to call Derek.”

“Call? We’ve tried-,” Liam starts but Ari shakes her head.

“Not with a phone, silly. With this.”

“…jewelry,” Liam says, glancing up from the crystal to Ari.

“Can I keep him?” Ari asks Stiles. She can’t fight the grin on her face. “He’s precious.”

“Yeah,” Stiles laughs, glancing at Liam’s red face. “You should hurry.”

“All right. I may pass out, so do your best to hold up against that thing. Remember, it’s only strong if you’re afraid.”

 

* * *

 

Scott taps his fingers against Deaton’s steel counters. Derek shifts his weight, uneasy.

“Maybe it won’t work,” Derek starts.

“It will. She knows what she’s doing,” Deaton says placidly.

“It’s been too long.”

“They’ll be fine,” Scott suddenly says. “They know what they’re doing, Derek.”

Derek exhales slowly.

_Equal footing_ , he thinks to himself.

If in insanity is doing the same thing and expecting to get different results, Derek thinks he’s far gone.

How long had it taken him to realize that he needed to stop treating Scott like a child? To realize that they needed to be equals?

“Well, this is riveting-,” Peter begins, smirking as he saunters into the room. “-but I imagine you’ll be pleased to know that I have an idea of where they are.”

“How,” Derek says grimly, still not sure if he can trust the man.

“Let’s just say I tugged on my leash.”

Deaton gives Derek a look that clearly says _he’s crazy_.

“Where are they?”

“You remember those ‘secret’ little getaways Kate had in the forest.”

Peter’s smile is toxic but Derek tries to ignore it, instead thinking.

“So they’re in a hideout?”

“It makes sense,” Scott points out. “Why make a cage if you can repurpose one?”

Derek doesn’t get a chance to answer.

The clinic door slams open and heavy footsteps echo in the hall. Derek shoots Peter a look but the man shrugs, looking mildly amused. Scott moves towards the doorway, tense.

“Where the hell is my son?”

 

* * *

 

The tunnel is getting colder. It’s probably six or seven, Stiles thinks. He wonders if they’ll get home by morning. His dad has night shift, so there’s no reason to worry yet.

“…Peter,” Ari says shortly.

“What? What about Peter?” Stiles asks, dreading the answer. _Did he come?_

“Guess he figured out my leash,” Ari snorts. She puts her crystal necklace back on.

“What do you mean? Did he escape?”

“No. He knows where we are. At least generally.”

“Would that even help? Generally?”

“It’ll help,” Ari reassures him. “Once they’re close I can reign him in.”

“That sounds…not nice,” Liam supplies.

“It won’t be.”

 

* * *

 

“John,” Deaton starts cautiously.

“No. I need to know _where_ he is. I came home and the door was _unlocked_.”

Peter shoots Derek a look, clicking his tongue.

“Bad manners, nephew.”

“I was a bit preoccupied,” Derek says sharply.

“And you. When the hell did _you_ come back? Wait- I don’t wanna know. Just tell me where my son is.”

Derek can see a lot of Stiles in John. Really it’s the other way around, he knows.

“He’s- with friends,” Derek improvises.

John stares at Derek for a full three seconds.

“Look, son- despite your history, Stiles convinced me to at least tolerate you. Hell, I started to _like_ you. But you’re working your way back to square one. Now, one last time: _where is my son_?”

Derek can see Peter snickering behind the Sheriff. It doesn’t help the situation.

“Something took him,” Scott says, rescuing Derek. _Again._ “He _is_ with Liam and Ari, though, so he’s safe.”

John’s gaze lingers on Derek for a second. He looks…disappointed, Derek thinks. _I’m disappointed in me too._

“What kind of something? And please don’t say aliens. That, I don’t think I can handle.”

Scott smiles kindly. Derek is starting to remember why he stopped treating him like a child.

“It’s a Tall Man. Apparently. I don’t know much about it, either, but apparently it feeds off of fear.”

“Great,” John says shortly, throwing his hands in the air. “No wonder it came here.”

“Stiles didn’t want to tell you because he wanted you to be safe,” Derek explains. “This thing feeds off of fear but it also affects those who have come into contact with people who have seen it.”

“He shouldn’t have kept this from me. _You_ shouldn’t have. I thought we were past this.”

_So did I._

“Listen, I think-,” Derek tries but he’s cut off when a loud sound echoes in the clinic.

“Is that an alarm?!” Scott yells over the sound.

Just as soon as it starts, it ends. Deaton exchanges a look with Derek.

“It’s here,” the man says.

And there, in the doorway, is the Tall Man.

 

* * *

 

Ari sits upright quickly, eyes trained on the barred end of the tunnel.

“What?” Liam asks.

“Peter’s coming.”

“Oh. Finally, the cavalry,” Stiles sighs. He’s just about had it with damp and leafy tunnels.

“Well…,” Ari trails off.

“Well wha-,” Stiles starts, irritated. He’s interrupted by the screaming of metal.

It lasts a few seconds and Stiles glares at the mouth of the tunnel where the bars have been bent into a person-sized hole.

“Hello, my lab rats,” Peter grins.

“About time,” Ari sighs, rising from her spot. “I assume it’s preoccupied at the moment.”

“Oh, yes,” Peter says mildly, waiting as Stiles and Liam exit.

“What do you mean, preoccupied?” Stiles asks. _I don’t like the sound of that._

“Well…your father isn’t happy about you not telling him,” Peter supplies helpfully.

“MY _FATH_ -,”

“Shh,” Ari hushes him. “As far as we know, it doesn’t know we’re out. Let’s keep it that way.”

“Where is he?”

“The clinic,” Peter replies.

Stiles realizes they’ve been following the man to a car. It’s unfamiliar- a bright cherry red truck. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Ari grinning madly.

“Oh, yes. I approve,” she says, hands on her hips as she admires the truck.

Stiles sees her cast a look at Peter. The strange, dangerous shimmer in their eyes makes Stiles shiver.

For some reason, he gets the idea that Ari is not nearly as hesitant as he originally thought.

 

* * *

 

“My son thought I would be afraid of _that_?” John shouts. His sidearm is in his hand and he’s ducking behind the operating table, peering out every few minutes.

He’s shouting because things have become very _loud_.

It’s almost like an ambient static, Derek thinks. That, and the thing is practically peeling the paint off the walls with its miasma.

“Not necessarily afraid,” Derek replies.

“We need to get into a wider space,” Scott notes, glancing towards the side door. “We can make it out there, if we’re fast.”

“All right,” Derek says. “We- where’s Peter?”

The thought is sudden and sharp. _Did it take him? When could it have taken him?_

“He left earlier,” Deaton says loudly. “I assume he’s tugging on the leash.”

John sends Deaton and Derek a look. _You’re all crazy_.

_Yeah,_ Derek thinks. _We are_.

Scott sends the Sheriff out first, ushering him out the door as he watches the Tall Man. The creature doesn’t seem to be moving and Derek wonders if it even walks. _For all we know, it could fly,_ he considers. The thought unsettles him. _Best not to think about that._

They successfully make it outside and Derek edges around the side of the building, peering out from the corner.

“What now?” Derek asks.

“To be honest, I thought it would be gone by now,” Deaton says tensely.

“That’s reassuring,” John quips. “How about we just try and kill it?”

“You can’t kill fear,” Scott points out.”

“Who said it was fear? You only said it… _uses_ fear.”

“What difference does it make?”

“Humans _use_ fear,” a voice echoes from behind them. “Fear itself isn’t real.”

 

* * *

 

“Stiles?” John says. “Son, you’re in trouble.”

Stiles is pretty sure his father is going to have a _very_ long chat with him.

“Yeah. I know,” Stiles says lightly. “First, though, we should take care of that thing. Before ‘being grounded’ turns into ‘institutionalized’.”

“What do you mean, human?” Derek whispers harshly. Stiles thinks he can see relief in the man’s eyes.

_I don’t understand him. I don’t even know if I want to. I am too tired to deal with his one-eighties right now._

“Why are we whispering?” Ari echoes, eyebrows raised. Beside her, Peter chuckles.

_Add that relationship to a list of things I don’t want to understand,_ Stiles thinks.

“I mean, I think this thing is actually human.”

“I thought we established that it wasn’t,” Scott says, confused. “You know, the whole myth thing?”

“Yeah, but we kind of ignored a very important fact,” Stiles hisses.

“What?” Deaton asks. He looks curiously like he already knows the answer. _Damn mind-reader._

“Something like possession.”

“Stiles,” Derek starts. He looks worried.

“When has it _not_ been possession? Remember the Nogitsune? The Beast? Hell, those Berserker things that Scott moonlighted as once?”

The group is silent. _Score one for the always ignored Stilinski,_ Stiles thinks. _It’s about time we start reflecting on our past mistakes._

“I _did_ touch it earlier,” Ari supplies. “So there’s that. I think it’s safe to say that as long as we aren’t afraid, it’ll at least be tangible enough to fight.”

“Okay. No fear,” Scott exhales. “I can do that.”

“Good,” Stiles says, slapping his shoulder. “’Cause I think it’s coming out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's short, I know. The thing is, I decided this cut worked because we'll have most of the big battle in the next installment. Hopefully we'll also get some much-needed parental guidance and reconciliation among friends, too.


	15. Smoke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles has an epiphany in the middle of a battle. Apparently, so does Derek. Meanwhile, the Sheriff gets a word in and Ari has a conversation with Peter that reveals a surprising memory.

Stiles cries out in pain when he sees an arm round the corner.

There’s an odd sort of static in his ears. He grits his teeth and covers his ears but it doesn’t work. _It’s mental,_ he realizes. The thought makes him angry. _That thing doesn’t have the right to hijack my brain,_ he thinks viciously.

Derek throws an arm out, trying to push Stiles back.

“Dude, what the he-,” Stiles starts but he’s cut off by Peter’s sudden growl.

Stiles turns just in time to see Ari release Peter. He can almost feel her ‘leash’ lifting, the magic- whatever it is- dissipating as Peter shifts, eyes glowing with intent.

“Okay, then… _GO_!” Stiles shouts, swinging his bat up to his shoulder.

He hadn’t imagined the face-off turning into a sloppy mess but honestly he can’t think why. _Everything we do turns into a mess._

Out of the corner of his eye, Stiles sees Deaton slip back into the clinic.

“Stiles!” Ari shouts. He blinks and catches the bag flying his way.

It’s powder. He’s not sure what it is. He’s almost about to ask when he sees Ari running, circling around the Tall Man while trailing the dust behind her.

“This again?”

He shakes his head but runs anyways, focusing on the feeling of dust in his palm as he traces half of a circle.

In the center of the circle, Derek is helping Peter.

The Tall Man is huge. Stiles isn’t sure how it got through the clinic door and he has a fleeting vision of it bending in half to crawl like Alice in Wonderland.

He suppresses his laugh but the tail end of it leaves anyways. He can see his father glance at him with a worried expression.

“Better,” Peter growls from inside the circle. Stiles can barely see werewolf claws making contact with the dark creature. “I can _touch_ it.”

Something clicks in Stiles’ head.

“This isn’t just about fear,” Stiles realizes, laughing.

“What do you mean?” Scott asks, anxiously watching Derek and Peter. He’s been holding back, waiting on Deaton to protect the man.

“It’s not just being afraid of _it_ ,” Stiles says. “It’s _us_! _US_!”

“Son, you hit your head on something?”

John sounds completely serious and Stiles laughs, shaking his head as he walks in a circle. _I can’t believe I didn’t think of this before._

“Ari, what did you tell me when I first started training?” Stiles yells. He’s already walking towards the circle.

“Energy is a tool!” Ari laughs. Her eyes are bright. _She gets it._ “IT FEEDS YOUR PURPOSE!”

Stiles steps over the line. He can hear his father calling his name. He extends a hand back, looking at Scott and Liam.

“It came here for fear. For solitude. For _isolation_. Are we a Pack?”

He sees Scott shift, a smile lighting up his face.

“We’re a Pack.”

Stiles turns and rushes forward with them, feeling lighter than he’s felt in months. _We **are** a Pack_, he thinks, triumph blazing in his chest. _And we **will** stop this._

The Tall Man snaps into focus, an almost audible _crack_ solidifying the miasma around it into a solid form. The static is suddenly gone and Stiles yells, swinging his bat with single-minded intent.

_One: energy is a tool. It feeds your purpose._

Scott circles around the creature, roaring as he slices at the back of its legs. The Tall Man collapses with a _thud_ , suddenly almost shrinking as it hits the ground. It’s maybe eight feet tall, Stiles thinks.

_Two: your purpose gives you direction. The stronger it is, the faster you move._

Stiles easily moves aside for Liam, watching the teen jump onto one of the creature’s shoulders, sinking his claws in as he keeps hold. The Tall Man moves, a hand swiping at Derek. Derek drops to the ground, leaving room for Peter to jump into the air, snarling as he slashes at the giant wrist.

_Three: when you achieve your purpose, another will come to you. If it doesn’t, **make one**._

Stiles can see Ari making her way around the Tall Man, Peter close behind as he watches the creature’s other arm, keeping it away. Stiles moves, bat in hand.

“Stiles!” Ari yells. Something sparkles sharply in her hand.

Time seems to bend as Stiles sprints, watching Derek kneel on the ground, hands linked together. He doesn’t even feel sorry when he steps, focusing on his balance as the werewolf launches him into the air.

The Quartz in Ari’s hand flies into the air. Stiles sees it wink at him in the fluorescent light, bright and clear.

The metal of his bat makes a thick _whoosh_ as he swings, ears ringing with silence as he focuses.

In that moment, he doesn’t think about hitting or missing. He only thinks of the crystal, his bat, and the creature bent before him.

The crystal rings clear and bright as it hits home and Stiles exhales, a combination of falling and relief lightening his heart like a feather.

Whatever- or whoever- the Tall Man is, it explodes in a thick cloud of black dust. Stiles can’t see anything in the darkness.

Strong arms catch him at the ground and Stiles grins, looking up. His head is so close to Derek’s chin that his nose brushes Derek’s jaw for a second. He breathes in a familiar smoke and pine, trying to make out features in the darkness. The dust is shifting away in the wind.

When Derek kisses him, Stiles is glad the man is holding him.

He’s pretty sure he would have fallen to the ground.

 

* * *

 

Ari coughs, twisting the ring on her finger. It blinks softly in the dust. She steps forward, mouth open to call Stiles.

_Oh._

It takes all of her willpower not to shriek in triumph when she sees them. She sincerely hopes that they remember where they are quick enough to stop before the Sheriff sees them.

 _Really, though, I could look at that all day,_ Ari thinks drily, smirking as she watches Stiles’ legs leave Derek’s arms. She can practically hear what he’s thinking. _“I am **not** kissing Derek Hale like a dead fish.”_

“Finally,” Peter sighs beside her.

“I know,” Ari murmurs, turning away. She pats his shoulder. “Come on. We need to find that crystal.”

Peter follows after a moment.

“You don’t have more?”

“I do. We need to know if it _was_ human,” Ari explains.

The dust is clearing more towards the center of the impact, she notices. As they walk closer, she notices the vague outline of a person. Her eyes widen.

“ _Christian?_ ”

She can feel Peter’s eyes on her back as she runs, skidding to a halt as she drops to her knees beside the prone figure.

His white shirt is smeared with black, she notices. _Almost like soot_.

“Come on, Christian. Wake up,” Ari mutters, turning him onto his side.

“He has a pulse,” Peter says. “Slow, but there.”

“He needs to breathe,” Ari growls, frustrated. “Come _on._ ”

She hits the back of his chest with a flat palm, hard. _Right where the lungs are,_ she thinks tensely. _Come on._

After a second Christian coughs, gasping as dust falls from his mouth. He rolls over onto his hands, pressing them into the ground. _He’s in pain,_ she thinks. _Probably will be for a while._

As they watch, the small crystal falls from his lips. He spits into the mess, wiping his mouth with a shaking hand.

“Well,” Ari says lightly, plucking the Quartz from the muck. “I guess I can’t use this again.”

The crystal is black.

 

* * *

 

Stiles can feel the smoke clearing and he almost doesn’t care. He’s too busy burying himself in Derek’s mouth.

 _Fuck all of this. I just want to be kissing him,_ Stiles thinks.

He’s tempted to continue, really, because he likes the way Derek’s leg feels even through his jeans. He’s trying to keep things respectful but his hand is just _itching_ to climb past the man’s thigh.

Derek seems equally enthusiastic, though- so much so that Stiles starts to wonder what the fuck is going on with the man. _Why is he still-,_ he starts to question but then the streetlight shines above them and Stiles calms down, realizing where they are and who they’re with.

 _Dad will **not** like this, _he thinks drily.

Derek follows Stiles as he moves away. _God,_ Stiles thinks, knowing his eyes are hazy and his cheeks flushed red. Derek is breathing heavily, hazel eyes dark in the night. _I **cannot** give a fuck right now._

Thankfully Derek seems to realize what they’re doing, though, because soon enough Stiles misses the warmth of the man’s hands on his neck and back. He wonders if maybe just continuing to make out will force everyone else to leave. _I could do it,_ he thinks.

“It’s a bad idea,” Derek rumbles. Stiles falls in love a little more with Derek’s post-kiss voice.

“So was running at the damn thing,” Stiles mutters, glancing at Derek’s mouth.

He can hear Derek gritting his teeth, barely holding onto control.

“Don’t- Stiles, please don’t do that.”

“Do what? Look at your mouth?” Stiles murmurs, eyes flicking back up. He feels pinned down by Derek’s gaze. It’s not a bad feeling.

“We should be looking for whatever that thing was,” Derek reminds Stiles. He doesn’t look convinced, either.

“Sure,” Stiles smirks. “We will.”

He lets his hands fall from Derek but not before they linger just below the man’s ass.

Stiles doesn’t stifle his laugh when he hears Derek’s growl right by his ear.

“Stiles!” Ari calls from somewhere in the distance.

“Coming!” Stiles calls, winking at Derek as he drags the word out.

 _Jesus,_ he thinks. _What is **wrong** with me?_

Derek bites his lip hard and Stiles watches a bead of blood rise before he tilts his head, leading the way towards Ari’s voice.

When they get closer, Stiles feels his eyes widen.

“What the _fu_ -,”

“Yeah,” Ari cuts him off, looking up from where she’s supporting Christian on the ground. “My thoughts exactly.”

“What happened?” Stiles asks, crouching.

Ari holds the Quartz up. Stiles shrinks back a little, staring at the darkened crystal.

“So there was something after all,” Stiles mutters.

“Looks like it,” Ari says, tucking the crystal into her jacket. “I’m not sure what but at least it’s contained now.”

“Is everyone okay?”

“I think so. You may want to find them, though. I think this dust stuff is moving in their direction.”

“Yeah.”

Stiles doesn’t have to walk far. He finds Scott and Liam first, both coughing as they wave dust away.

“You all okay?”

“Yeah,” Scott coughs. “Did we stop it?”

“Kind of. I think _it_ was attached to Christian.”

“Chris-,”

“The Hunter kid,” Stiles reminds him. “We don’t know why. The other part is in Ari’s crystal, though.”

“We’ll have time to talk later, I guess,” Scott sighs. “For now, we should find the others and regroup.”

“Stiles!”

It’s his father. Stiles exhales, shoulders dropping. _Thank god._

“Dad. Are you-,”

“I’m fine. What were _you_ thinking?”

“What-,”

“ _What were you thinking_?”

The sheriff’s voice raises a fraction and Stiles blinks, glancing at Scott and Liam. Scott sends Stiles an encouraging look.

“I’ll find Deaton.”

When Scott leaves, Stiles’ father is still looking at him.

“What do you mean, Dad?”

“You ran in there like you thought you were one of them!”

“I _am_ -,”

“You’re _not_ ,” John says. “Son, you’re _not_ a werewolf, or a- a banshee, or whatever the hell else is out there!”

“But I’m _Pack_!”

His father is quiet for a moment, watching. Stiles breathes heavily, disbelief and sadness threatening to overwhelm him.

“They’re more than just my friends, Dad. I can’t _leave_ them. Not when I can help.”

“Son, you are not _helping_ when you throw yourself in there.”

“I didn’t _throw_ myself,” Stiles tries to explain. “They _knew_ what I was doing. They knew how to fight with me!”

“It doesn’t matter,” his father says. “You’re my son. You’re _human_. You know people get hurt with this stuff.”

“I know, Dad,” Stiles tries. He thinks maybe he’s in danger of crying. He doesn’t know how to _explain_. “I _know_ people get hurt. It’s not that I haven’t thought of it.”

“I’m not saying you haven’t thought of it, son. I just think…maybe you need to think about it more.”

 

* * *

 

“What is it? I can hear you thinking.”

Peter emerges from the kitchen slowly. _Like a wild animal,_ Ari thinks. _Or maybe not. Maybe just a wounded one._

“The leash.”

_I knew this was coming._

“You want me to take it off.”

“No.”

Ari moves a fraction of an inch. The urge to turn and face Peter is strong. She doesn’t, though, instead waiting. _No?_

“Why didn’t you put it back after the fight?”

Ari doesn’t move. _He knows._ Peter walks around the couch, coming to sit across from her. He’s leaning forward on his knees. Expectant.

“…I wasn’t sure that I had to.”

“Why? Why would you take that chance?”

Peter’s different, she thinks. Different than she remembers. _Oh, do I remember him._

She wants to tell him that he’s different.

“You protected me,” she says instead, succinct. It hurts not to say anything.

“That’s a lie,” Peter says. His voice is hoarse.

She can see his gaze rising from the floor. Her heart beats painfully in her chest. _He knows. He **knows**._

“You know,” Ari manages, hearing her own voice as if it’s someone else’s. She hates the unshed tears in her voice, hates how broken she sounds.

“I remember,” Peter starts. “I remember- you. You were there. I don’t remember why. You were at the front of the school, waiting. For someone.”

Ari can feel her world shaking. She thinks that maybe this is how it will end, with old scars opened so they can flow with fresh blood. _I don’t want to remember,_ a voice in her head says, panicking. She ignores it.

“My brother,” she whispers. She can see his face. After. Before. Smiling and colored in blood.

“You came every day. I saw you. Little duck,” Peter manages, laughing.

Ari can’t help her laugh. It’s torn on the edges but it comes out anyways. She wants to forget.

“You teased me because I followed behind him.”

Peter shakes his head. He’s deep in his memories, Ari knows. She thinks she should leash him, reign him back, but part of her doesn’t care. She doesn’t care if he loses it, lashes out, kills her.

“What happened?” Peter asks. His gaze is suddenly firm, in focus, sharp.

 _What happened,_ Ari thinks, _is life._

“You know, I liked you. I was a kid. I wanted to talk to you so I convinced my brother to take me hiking in the woods. We got separated.”

Peter inhales sharply. _He’s remembering,_ she thinks. She’d known it would happen, with his personality no longer split. She never thought it would be this soon. While she was still around.

“You were attacked.”

“Someone else was in the woods that day. Looking for you. Your family. I was wandering around and they found me. They thought I was one of you. They beat me. I was half awake when you showed up, you know.”

“I thought you were dead,” Peter starts but he seems to realize it sounds like an excuse and he stops, shaking his head. “I…”

“I wasn’t,” Ari says. “I was still there. I watched you leave.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter says but his eyes are dead.

“You didn’t know,” Ari says quietly. “It didn’t matter. I moved a week later, when Theo did. After that, _he_ got me involved.”

“I shouldn’t have left you.”

“You didn’t know.”

“You were a _child_ ,” Peter growls. His claws are out, digging into his legs.

Ari can smell the faint tang of blood. She closes her eyes for a minute, breathing in slowly.

“You know…I changed. Because of it. I won’t lie.”

Peter is stiff in his seat and Ari leans back into the couch, relaxing. _There’s nothing else to hide._

“I always had a backup. I never trusted anyone else with myself. I belonged to nobody but me.”

She can see his expression. _I did that._

“Because I left you,” Peter says.

“No,” Ari says quietly. “Not _you_. Because I _was left_. It doesn’t matter that it was you.”

“Bullshit,” Peter snarls.

“I thought so too, for a while,” Ari says drily. “It wouldn’t have mattered though. If it were someone else, or if no one had come. I was alone in the forest, half dead. I felt _alone_.”

“It doesn’t change the fact that _I left you_ ,” Peter growls. His claws sink deeper. “Just like I did with them.”

He’s spiraling. _Back into the fire._

“I wasn’t your family, Peter,” Ari says shortly. “Don’t ever fucking kid yourself. I wasn’t even your friend. I was a damn kid you saw after school for five seconds every few days.”

“But I _knew_ you.”

“So maybe you shouldn’t have left. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that we are here, now, and _you haven’t left again._ ”

Ari waits for it to sink in. She can tell Peter doesn’t want to hear it, wants to argue. _Always so fucking stubborn,_ she thinks. Part of her wants to scream, punch, cry. The broken part of her doesn’t want to talk anymore.

She ignores everything and waits.

“You didn’t leash me…because you think I’ve changed.”

Peter looks incredulous.

“Tell me you haven’t.”

“I left my _family_ to _burn_. I killed my _niece_. I did- I have done _so many things_ -,”

“So much shit, yeah, I’ve seen it,” Ari snaps. “You’ve done shit; I’ve done shit- we’ve _all_ done shit. Peter, we aren’t normal. We never could be. You’re a _werewolf_. Odds are against you on a good day and want to tell me that’s all your fault?”

“I had a _choice_ to do right. To _not_ kill my family.”

“Sure. But you were burned into a coma, remember?” Ari watches him flinch. “So tell me what the rules are for that. Because last time I checked, humans aren’t made to go through what you did. To see their entire life go up in flames without having the power to help.”

“How can you sit here and tell me I haven’t done anything wrong?” Peter asks, quiet. She can see his control, barely visible as he glares at her.

 _I could undo all the work I’ve done to help him,_ she thinks.

“You have done something wrong. You’ve been a shitty example of a human, Peter. You’ve done the worst things- you were _evil_. Except you weren’t born that way and you didn’t choose to be that way. Something happened _to_ you and you made a choice. It may not have been the right choice, but you made it. What you do from now on- that’s another choice you’re going to have to make.”

“Now tell me,” Ari says quietly. “Are you going to change? Or are you going to give up?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the longest chapter in terms of page count on my laptop. I sort of wish chapters would look like they do in my program...anyways. I hope you enjoy. This was really the scene I had in mind when starting this story. I wanted Stiles and Derek time (obviously) but I also wanted Peter to get some good versus evil pointers from someone who doesn't see things in black and white. Hopefully Ari has come off so far as a spectrum character, or at least a kind of Devil's Advocate at times.  
> As always, please enjoy and review. I love hearing from you!


	16. Changed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talking is what they need to do, Stiles thinks.  
> Conversations take place and things change. In the end, though, change is for the better. Perhaps, everyone thinks, these changes will help them grow.

“When did we fall apart?”

It’s a quiet question. Stiles watches the moon in the sky, leaning against his Jeep.

“I think it was a long time coming,” he says truthfully.

“Why?”

“You were a freshman,” Stiles laughs shortly. “No one’s Pack leader material at that age.”

Scott smiles a little. They both know it’s not exactly true.

“You said the Tall Man wanted to feed off solitude- not just fear.”

“Yeah. I think they go hand in hand.”

“So it came for Liam first,” Scott says quietly.

_I know what he’s thinking. He’s thinking he didn’t do enough,_ Stiles thinks.

“Liam’s not from here,” Stiles reminds Scott.

“What?”

“He’s not from here. He didn’t grow up in the Scott Zone.”

“Scott Zone?”

_He’s smiling._ Scott has a crooked jaw. Stiles has pointed it out before.

“Yeah. You know, he didn’t grow up with your goofy face and your peanut butter cookies.”

“People do like my cookies,” Scott chuckles.

“No,” Stiles shakes his head. He can’t help the smile on his face. _We just say we do because you look so happy when we do._

“No?”

“Man, you don’t even _know_. See, this is what I mean. Scott Zone.”

Scott shakes his head, laughs. They watch the sky and Stiles looks at his nails in the pale moonlight. There’s still black dust under a few.

“You know…I’m stupid.”

“What?”

“Very, very stupid.”

“Stiles, you’re not stupid,” Scott says. “ _You_ wrote a lot of my essays for me, remember? You-,”

“Oh, sure. School stuff, no big. Life stuff? Very. Very stupid.”

“What are you talking about?”

Stiles rips a blade of dry grass from the ground. He’s quiet for a minute, gathering his thoughts as he picks dust out from under his nails. _Dust. We don’t even know what it is._

“You know, when you were first dating Allison, I knew it was good. I mean, I knew you deserved her.”

Scott brings his knees up to his chest. He rests his chin on them, smiling a little. Stiles tries not to hurt at the memory of her death. His part in it.

“It was good,” Scott says quietly.

“Yeah,” Stiles says softly. “And I was stupid. I was happy for you but I felt sad. Mad. Because I knew you wouldn’t be around.”

Scott turns his head a little, brow furrowed. Before he can talk, Stiles continues.

“It didn’t last. It was knee-jerk, you know? I ignored it. It didn’t go away, though. It just kind of…lingered. In the back of my head. I didn’t believe it. But it was there.”

“Stiles, we’ve been friends forever.”

“I know.”

“I _did_ spend a lot of time with her,” Scott smiles ruefully.

“Still not enough,” Stiles says, catching Scott’s gaze. _Never enough. Not when she left so soon._

They’re quiet for a little while and Stiles thinks to himself.

“You know, I made some stupid decisions,” Scott says. “I was so determined to be normal.”

“That’s good,” Stiles argues. “You deserve that- it wasn’t fair, being bitten-,”

“But it wasn’t your fault.”

“I know,” Stiles says simply. “Not all. It was Peter, too. Maybe even you, for following an idiot like me.”

Scott smiles.

“We’re friends.”

“Yeah. Sometimes I need to hear that, you know? It’s stupid. I need to _hear_ things. I get…insecure. Unsure. I doubt myself.”

“You don’t think a lot of yourself.”

“Neither do you,” Stiles raises an eyebrow, nudging Scott. _Maybe that’s our problem._

“Well, I think you’re great.”

“Yeah. You too.”

 

* * *

 

“You didn’t tell anyone you knew me,” Peter says quietly.

Ari sighs as she lies in bed. _Not like I was getting sleep anyways,_ she thinks.

“I’m not a werewolf, Peter. I can’t hear you. Come in here.”

The apartment is silent for a moment. She hears his feet move softly across the floor and then he’s at her door, hesitating again.

“Come on,” She repeats, leaning up on her elbows.

She almost laughs when he sits at the foot of her bed. Almost.

“Why?”

“That’s your favorite word,” Ari smiles tiredly. “Why. Because they didn’t need to know.”

“For convenience,” Peter clarifies.

“…for me,” Ari corrects. She feels her tongue heavy in her mouth.

_Stop talking,_ her heart says. _Stop telling him everything._

She knows, logically, that they need to talk.

“You were protecting yourself,” Peter realizes quietly.

“Yes.”

“…I won’t say anything,” Peter says after a moment.

“Thank you.”

She leans back against her pillows, exhaling as she stares at the ceiling. Peter shifts on the bed as if to leave. Ari lifts her hand, dropping it onto the mattress in a halfhearted pat.

Peter raises an eyebrow at her and she fights the grin on her face.

“May as well. It’s more comfortable than the couch.”

She _doesn’t_ chuckle when Peter curls up at the foot of her bed like a dog.

_Like a **wolf**._

 

* * *

 

“Where were you?”

“Talking to Scott.”

John nods, looking back down at the table. There are papers spread across it. He rubs his head with his hands, exhaling through his nose. Stiles is about to go when his father speaks again.

“We need to talk.”

“…yeah,” Stiles says slowly.

He sits at the table, watching his father shuffle papers. Part of him wonders. He remembers a similar scene. Remembers the bottle and the glass.

“I just want you to be safe,” his father eventually says.

Stiles can feel his heart aching. For his father. For himself. For a world where werewolves and humans exist together.

“I know.”

“We’re supposed to protect each other.”

“I know, Dad. I’m trying.”

“How can I protect you if you go out with them? With…the thing I’m afraid might kill you?”

“They’re my friends. They can protect me too,” Stiles reminds him. “They have. They do.”

“I want you to be happy, son. But I want you to be safe, too.”

“I already know about them. No matter what, I can’t change that.”

“…yeah. I wish I could take that back,” John smiles tiredly.

Stiles tries not to feel guilty. _Not just you,_ he thinks to himself.

“You know, dad…if I leave for college, you’re going to have to accept that you can’t always protect me.”

“I’ll transfer,” his father says. There’s a ghost of a smile on his face.

“You’ll retire,” Stiles smiles. “It’s okay, Dad. I know you want me to be careful.”

“Will you? Be careful?”

“I’ll try.”

“All I want is for you to talk to me,” John sighs, leaning back in his chair.

“Yeah,” Stiles says quietly. “We all need to talk more.”

 

* * *

 

Deaton sighs heavily. Stiles thinks that’s the man’s signature, almost like a catchphrase. Sighing.

“He’s fine now. And I’ll remind you, I’m a _vet_.”

“Well, it’s good you’re feeling better,” Stiles says, choosing not to comment on the second part.

“Yeah. I think ‘better’ is a relative term,” Christian winces, shifting on the couch.

They’re in Ari’s apartment. Stiles had realized after they’d shown up that it was in the same building as Derek’s. He wonders if she knows. If he knows.

While he’s thinking about Derek, he wonders what’s going on with the man. It’s been half a day since their makeout session and Stiles is starting to wonder. Derek still seems to be casting looks when he thinks Stiles isn’t looking.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Ari asks.

She’s sitting on a couch across from Christian. Leaning on the arm, barely touching her shoulder, is Peter.

_Weird._

“I was in charge of Eichen while we were restructuring. There were others there, too. I was supposed to leave when the new administrator showed up. I don’t think I did.”

He looks pained. Confused. _Like he has a headache and he can’t remember._

“Well, we know the Tall Man- or whatever it was- is captured. As long as it’s out of the way, we’re safe,” Ari exhales. “Answers would be nice but at this point we may not get all of them.”

“The hospital is under new administration,” Derek says.

It’s one of his non-questions. Stiles feels himself smiling a little. _I missed him,_ he thinks. _The way he talks. Acts. Everything._

“It is,” Christian agrees. “We restaffed, too. The new administrator is a friend from London. He’s technically a retired Hunter but he knows the rules so they asked him to help. He was more than willing.”

“Out of the goodness of his heart?” Ari asks. She sounds amused.

_She seems to be turning into more and more of a Peter,_ Stiles thinks drily. _I’m not sure what’s going on. She used to seem more…reserved, maybe._

“He said he’d been in Eichen once,” Christian says quietly.

The room is silent. Ari leans back in her chair.

“Well, it’s going to get better now,” Scott says firmly. “That’s good. It’s what we needed.”

“What _they_ needed,” Stiles adds. “Being in there isn’t fun.”

Derek sways in place. _Like he wants to move closer,_ Stiles realizes. The thought makes him happy.

“Well, if I’m no longer needed, I think I’ll turn in. It’s been a busy month,” Deaton adds. His eyes are bright with humor.

“Yeah, you’ve got that right,” Stiles sighs.

“Well, I’m hungry,” Ari says suddenly, jumping from her seat. “Stiles?”

“I…,” he starts, glancing nervously at Derek. _I want to talk to him_.

“Right. Well, at least come downstairs. I have something for you in my truck.”

“It’s not a crystal, is it?” Stiles jokes.

“No. But you can still relearn how to use them,” Ari smiles.

As they make their way downstairs, Stiles gets the feeling it isn’t over. _Like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop,_ he thinks.

They’re almost outside when Derek speaks up from behind Stiles.

“I called-,”

He doesn’t finish, though, because there’s a growl ahead of them and Stiles hears a man yell. Ari suddenly jumps the last few stairs, exploding out onto the parking lot.

_What-?_

“Chris,” Stiles says, shocked. _What the hell- is that who Derek called?_

He doesn’t mull things over, though, because Chris is swinging what looks like a tire iron at Peter.

_Well._

The word ‘wait’ doesn’t even finish spilling from Stiles’ mouth before Ari lifts her left wrist, effectively blocking the blow. There’s a resounding _crack_ and Stiles stares, frozen.

“I think you should slow down,” Ari says evenly, gazing up at Chris.

“Chris. It’s okay,” Derek starts, trying to step closer.

“Derek, I know how it feels, but you can’t just let him out,” Chris says warningly, still staring over Ari’s head at Peter.

“He didn’t,” Stiles jumps in, moving quickly. “Ari healed him. Chris, please. Just drop it for a second. You can beat Peter into werewolf jam _after_ we explain.”

“How kind of you,” Peter says drily, glancing over his shoulder at Stiles.

They stand in place for a moment and Stiles, frustrated, is about to say something when Chris drops his arm.

Something falls to the ground and Ari blinks, quickly bringing her wrist to her side.

“Did I hurt you?” Chris asks quietly.

“No,” Ari dismisses, starting to move away. She’s caught by Peter, his hand anchoring her by the shoulder.

“Let me see.”

“It’s fine,” Ari repeats. She sounds irritated.

_This is stupid,_ Stiles thinks, sighing as he walks up to her.

“I thought you told me lying to yourself was stupid,” Stiles smirks.

“ _Sto-_ ,”

“Oh.”

_So that’s what the black mark was._

The triskele on her wrist is black. It’s small but the dark ink stands out against her skin. Stiles stares at it for a minute.

_Why was she hiding it?_

Peter is staring, too. Ari ignores them, shoving her hand into the pocket of her jacket.

“Come on. Let’s go.”

 

* * *

 

Stiles is quiet as he sits in the passenger seat. He casts a glance at Derek, curious.

“What do you think?

Derek is quiet, hands flexing on the wheel.

“I don’t know. It’s not uncommon. It’s just a symbol,” he adds.

“Maybe. But why was she hiding it?”

“She might have been trying to spare bad feelings. I don’t know. You said she’s been in Peter’s head, right? That’s probably why she hid it.”

Stiles leans against the car window, watching the red truck in front of them. He wonders where Peter got it from.

After a minute, he remembers who he’s in the car with.

“So,” Stiles starts, pausing. _I don’t know what to say. What do I say? ‘Did you like kissing me’? ‘Was it an accident’?_

“I’m sorry,” Derek exhales.

_Oh._

“Oh,” Stiles manages, suddenly intent on staring out his window. He can feel his body heat rising.

“No- I didn’t- Stiles, I didn’t mean I was sorry for…kissing you.”

Stiles closes his eyes for a second, counting his heartbeat. _One. Two. Three._ When he opens his eyes, he looks over at Derek. The man looks sad. Frustrated. _Frustrated by himself._

“Why did you?”

Derek laughs a little. He chews on his bottom lip for a second and Stiles realizes he’s trying to bite back a smile.

“Because I wanted to.”

“That’s it. Seriously? _Because you wanted to?!_ ” Stiles screeches, waving his hands.

Derek’s laughing again but this time Stiles thinks he can see tears in the man’s eyes.

“I’ve wanted to for a while.”

Stiles’ mouth snaps shut.

_I’ve wanted to for a while._

“Ohhhhhhh, you don’t _get_ to say that,” Stiles growls, hitting the car door. “Do you even know-,”

He can’t finish. He can barely get the words out. _Do you know how long I’ve wanted you? Thought about you? It was more than wanting to help. It was more than that when I turned back to look at you._

“I don’t,” Derek says. “and I’m sorry. I…was wrong. I was worried. I thought maybe it would be like before.”

“With Kate,” Stiles finishes, realizing. _He’s been stuck in the past._

_Not that I’m any better._

“I’m sorry,” Derek says softly. “It was stupid.”

Stiles can’t fight the smile on his face. He leans against the door, laughing. He’s exhausted, mentally and physically.

“Stupid,” Stiles says, breathless. “We all are.”

 

* * *

 

“I’m not sure this is a good idea,” Chris Argent says wryly, leaning back in his seat.

Ari swirls her smoothie, watching the movement. They’re in a small restaurant by the high school but no one’s really eating.

“He’s been through a lot,” Scott agrees. “I don’t know that it’s safe for him to be here, at least.”

“So you’re exiling him,” Ari says.

The table is quiet.

“You don’t know what-,”

“Hah- no, no. I know. I was in his head, remember?” Ari points out.

She’s frustrated. _I know what it’s like to have to leave your home. I don’t want that. Not now. Not after all we’ve done._

“We still don’t know how _you_ feel, Peter. Do you know if you can keep control?”

“I have him on a leash, if that’s your concern,” Ari interrupts. “I’m not saying he’s the same man he was before the fire. I’m saying he’s grown.”

“I understand you had a part in this,” Chris says shortly. “But you need to consider the fact that this is Scott’s territory.”

_Territory,_ Ari thinks. For a moment she feels a rush of anger. _Werewolves and their territory and wars. All this death and their machinations, for what?_

Logically, she knows it goes beyond politics.

Besides her, Peter shifts. She can feel him move closer, just barely. It gives her a brief pang in her heart. _He’s trying to get close,_ she thinks. _Like werewolves do. In their Packs._

“As Ari mentioned, I _am_ on a leash,” Peter says smoothly. She doesn’t miss the lie. “My control is something I’ve been…developing. I can’t tell you anything with certainty but what I _can_ say is that I will not be staying in Beacon Hills.”

Ari grips the edge of her seat. _I knew he would say that._

“I appreciate that,” Scott starts, glancing at Derek. “I know no one wants to say it but Eichen _is_ under new management.”

Stiles and Derek have been uncharacteristically quiet. It’s not a bad silence, though, so Ari suspects they’ve had time to talk on the drive.

“We can’t do that,” Ari says tightly. “ _You_ know, Stiles. _We’ve_ both been in there. It’s not just the people that made it hell. It was the place itself.”

“It’s not nice,” Scott says firmly, “but he said he’s not sure of his own control. We’ve trusted him once before.”

Scott looks sorry when he points it out. Ari knows why he says it but she still bites her tongue. Peter doesn’t flinch.

“Look. You’re all being unfair,” Ari exhales.

“I don’t think it’s unfair to expect him not to kill anyone,” Chris points out, raising an eyebrow.

Ari stares at the man. She thinks she could like him if they weren’t talking about Peter.

“I think what Ari’s trying to say…is that we can’t hold Peter to a standard that he can never reach,” Stiles explains. “I mean, he’s never going to be like he was before. We can’t expect that.”

_Finally,_ she thinks. _Someone who gets it._

“We can’t expect him to turn back time,” Derek says quietly. “We need to decide how much we’re willing to accept from him now. As he is.”

Ari watches Liam’s face. The teenager had showed up at the restaurant after Scott had called him. _This is a Pack decision,_ Scott had said. She respects him for saying it.

“I know about unreasonable expectations,” Liam submits, cautious. As if he isn’t sure whether he should be speaking. “But…I think we need to look at this with the facts. Ari says she’s controlling him. If he can spend some time away to get things in order…why not?”

“We could risk the chance of letting him loose on some other unsuspecting town,” Chris says but he’s smirking a little.

Peter’s mouth moves a little. Ari thinks he’s trying not to grin. _Don’t do it,_ she thinks, shooting him a look _. You look like a shark when you do. Or a wolf, rather._

His eyes twinkle just a little and she huffs, turning away.

“I’ll take responsibility for this. Obviously. Since I’m the one with the leash, I can guarantee he’s contained.”

“Is that acceptable?” Chris asks Scott.

“I think so,” Scott says quietly. “After a year, we can meet again. Maybe then we can figure something out.”

“Maybe,” Peter says.

 

* * *

 

“So.”

“So,” Derek echoes, voice soft in the night.

_What is it about the stars,_ Stiles wonders, _that makes us want to look up at them?_

They’re lying in the grass. Stiles isn’t sure what they’re supposed to be talking about. Technically, they’ve already talked. He’s just not one hundred percent clear on anything.

“When are you leaving?”

He can _feel_ Derek’s brow furrow and he tries not to smile.

“What do you mean?” the man asks, turning onto his side.

“You’re going to leave, aren’t you?”

Stiles winces. _That could have sounded a little less accusing,_ he thinks.

Derek watches Stiles, quiet. Stiles tries to distract himself by counting Derek’s freckles. _Like the stars._

“I won’t. Unless you want me to.”

_He’s being completely honest,_ Stiles realizes, shocked. The thought knocks his heart off its feet and he feels his pulse speed up. He’s sure Derek can hear it but he can’t slow it down.

“Will you? Stay?”

“I will.”

Stiles scoots a little closer, hiding his smile under his arm. Derek laughs, pressing his forehead against Stiles’. _Werewolves are cheaters,_ Stiles thinks. _Freakin’ heartbeat readers._

“I saw your initials. In the library,” Stiles remembers.

“Senior Scribe,” Derek grins. “I remember that.”

“It made me miss you. I mean, besides everything else. I wondered what you were like. I was angry that you couldn’t be happy again. You didn’t let yourself.”

Derek watches him and Stiles thinks he might actually be able to see love in his eyes. _God. Is this it? Is this what we’ve been avoiding?_

“I’m happy now,” Derek says quietly and Stiles laughs, shaking his head as he leans in.

“You damn well better be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always to my readers.   
> Escalus and Duchess: I appreciate your conversations. It's great to see things happening on a story I never thought would take off like this.  
> Mulder200 and Icarus2386: It was always nice to see your excitement. Encouragement like that is what helps me to keep writing!  
> And to all the others who managed to comment: I may not have been able to respond every time, but rest assured I've read what you said, and I appreciate it.
> 
> -
> 
> So what's next on my to-write fic list?   
> Well, maybe what happens a year later.


End file.
